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The Ussie Burn ©

Paul Murdoch
Alexandria, Scotland
2005

The gentle burn that gurgles past,
The slush and slosh of brackish trails
That once was winter snow.
Its peaty depths as dark as any starless night
As cold as any lifeless grave,
This constant rush becalms my soul
And steadies fraying nerves
That snap much easier now.

Its fairy mist can brush my skin
And hold me for a while.
My gaze is set on polished stones
Of ancient granite, lime and quartz
A glittering prize below.
If heavenís such a sanguine place
Iíll rest in perfect, patient peace an age
Before I stir and fret.

Forlorn am I to leave such tranquil streams
As those in Ussieís Glen.
To join the race of rats and men
Where pressures mount and stab at weary hearts.
A distant bell rings time at last.
Time to rush and run and worry once again.
Or, is it really time
To stay a little longer after all?


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