Black Isle, Summer strumming on my guitar by the cottage on the Cromety Firth; a travelling to Rosmarkie, Fortrose, Avoch, where they say the Dolphins bask in the Moray Firth; the Pictish stones, the Clannish ales, the Tartan piper with his practice drones across the water to Invergordon. The peaceful hills where battles raged; a Highland tune, a lowland ballad, came a song across the sunlit sea..
Text by Trev Teasdel
No comments:
Post a Comment