Looking north

Don't think I don't think back
when I was looking out over water
but facing north
rather than south

The long water west
ending below far-off Roineabhal
The townships across the loch
near, but still so far

Walking the roads at dusk
the distant mountains in white
freezing cold air blown in
as lit up from the east

Limpid depthless mirrors
named in a to me yet foreign tongue
scattered amidst countless hillocks
interspersed by peaty streams

At the end of the road
stands a small memorial tower
remembering a struggle for land
which remains unforthcoming

But little stirs amidst the moors
Only remain those that went on ahead
Their final resting place by the sea
which was, or took, their life

Don't think I have forgotten
the lure of those winter moors
under the pale light
of the short solstice day

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