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