The Last Dance

Fields that once were ripe with cropsNow play host to blackface and cheviotWhere the children ran and playedAmong the bluebell and the thistleNow screams the wind in bansidhe wailLooking for those who once dwelt there. This land was once our landWhere we lived and lovedRings now with silenceIn this our last dance. In wooden vessels on the clydeLike the silver darlings They were packed side by sideAcross the mighty seaTo lands of distant shore. Homes in ruin lie ivy on the roofGrass cropped short by a million mouthsFlies the eagle his gaze on land belowLooking for the people who danced to natures tuneStill grow the bluebells among Pine and birks and stream.Apm 4/1/14 1.25 am.