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Tanera Mor

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.
(c) 2015-2022 Ron McFarland, All Rights Reserved
Published inPoetry