the bravehearts

the sea mist rolls across the irish sea
meandering,methodical and magical
our ailsa rises shrouded from the sea bed
dignified in delicately encroaching darkness
the solitary flashing lighthouse light
a warning or a beckoning bewitching beacon
calling the far away heart to come home
to rise to the inspiration of scotland's call
the wailing bag pipe sounds of blood and history
reminding those far travelled to distant lands
of hearth and home, of highlands and heather
the beauty of her, the enchantment, carried within
the generations lost to the lure of adventure
the exploration of far away places
excitingly exotic, enchanting the bravehearts
who carry within, the memory of a green land
grey days and beating rain, hot broth and baking bread
stone walls, two feet thick, our armour against nature
blessed spring sunshine, lovingly embracing green hills
where the nodding blooms of daffodils
burst vibrant sunshine yellow, scattered by the hand of God
the golden yellow stain of gorse, seeps and slides
across the hills of ayrshire, lighting the landscape
a promise of the pulse of summer, whispering
come home stranger, come home from outwith
breathe once more the hawthorne and the heather
soar with the eagles, follow the call of your blood
home to scotland's green shores and the pride of your history


Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann