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Lost in the Mist of Loch Linnhe ©
Highland memories...

Nat Hall
Sandwick, Shetland
1996

In April night, a veil of spring
Like a linen,
Lingers slowly like a serpent
Across the glen...
Caressing peaks with its cold lips
Just to embrace
The bedtime sun disappearing
At a slow pace.

The fallen bride in the waters
Of Loch Linnhe
Has awakened in the twilight
Beneath her shroud;
All around her, wandering voices
In a crowd
Are whispering - weaving her veil
She can be proud.

And by the shore she comes to sing
Her grimmest tale;
That of despair, woe and anger
Lost in the mud...

Beneath the snow flows her sorrow -
She looks so pale;
She can't forget the darkest night...
The bath of blood.


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