Tanera Mor

My dear Tanera Mor, Isle of Scotland

As swooping gulls squabble overhead

The bogs carry the scent of myrtle

On a brisk breeze.

Islet of hummocky bogs – bright lochans two

Sun facing lichen-covered rock

As I walk, grasses tremble and crunch

Across these hills.

Grasses judder as winds cast from the ocean

Tadpoles quiver in peaty shallows

A black sheep lies on the distant bluff

A cuckoo calls.

Forward as heather crunches underfoot

Gull dabbles the surface of water

While nightfall inks the tinted sky

From blue to black.

Form ripples in the marsh that reflect the spread

Glitter of starry net overhead

I know that I am home with you,

Tanera Mor.