To the first and the end I've been here. They smile in silence as the Tay watches o'er me, a sole mast at the top of the sea. Fire washes eyes in the dead-silence of bird song and bitter-sweet farewells. I am not ready to move. For bonnie is the greenish of the law-cresting pine, silver as sky-reflected sea, Hollowed are the steeples in grander bristling sway, The wind is still in the song of the free.
The road on my toes pulls down, grounding me to my memory so far beneath. Weighting and waiting is the stride that carries beyond the way. I bid farewell. Hearing again the voice of many collected, it drowns the senses in a pool of chamomile flower. Once lived, it echoes in empty space only known.
Shall I know the sage of summer? Can I taste of the mint in your water? Will the gulls cry for me as I leave like the ships lost at sea? I will go on. New in my journey and new in my return. I will go on, fairing far in farfaring.
Yet now life is distant to this gazing, left in separation From the rosary dusting from the hook. Never knowing the height of this land, It calls me, tells me, yearns me stay. But I, the wandering child, will never be the same. I see it here, now, as it deepens in depart, a stranger to love and land and life. She turns away unburdened and unknown. And I do the same, drooping eyes that never meet.
Falling away from the cradle, branded, marked By those who could never understand. Feverish to turn to restoration, Ever reliant on the flashing of street lights for constancy. As newness reigns in me, Transposed by my rambling mind and feet, Its curse and blessing will not fail.
At the fastest, rising pull of gravity's alite, I shall see you soon enough.