Grandfather Mountain





Moon drifts over Cranberry Gap

Disappearing into the valley mist

Blanketing whispers of cicadas and frogs

Gossip of Ceilidh sound impossible to miss

At the top of the mountain.



Pipers marching across the field

As the athletes open the games

To toss caber and hammer

To test the shepherd dogs

Celebrating the gathering

Clans one more time.



Thistle and Laurel grow thick and rich

And a bit of the fragrance clings to the hand

That gives the flowers to the victors.

Reels and jigs to the harps

And whistles of the band.



And as soon as it has started

It runs away back into the valley mist

On the far side of Cranberry Gap.

Living in the dreams of the Scots at heart

Until we meet again.   

(c) Christopher Mitchell 2009, 2011, 2013

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