Along the Scottish coast

Where boulders are strewn

With careless hand

In the moist and giving sand,

The broom and heather bloom

A wind-whipped land

Where no one lives.

As a child I wandered

Along the grassy cliff,

And gazed with understanding eyes

On this playground of the skies,

A showcase of the seasons

Where I would chance to reason

On beauty so sublime.

The wind divined a story

Of a God in all its glory,

Intertwining mystic magic

With all that’s real and tragic,

Shading white with gray

As following the night with day,

So we would have a second sight

To truly see our life

As we see the heather and the sky.

I’ll remember through all time

Standing on the heath

In that forsaken wild,

Listening to the whispering wind