“Louise Love to Climb the Summit…” N. C. Wyeth, 1907, WikiArt.

Do you have secret place, rocky corner
Grass-shrouded, hidden from view?
Mine is sacred spot, clear cold water
Flowing from crevice in stone face,
Rippling pool beneath, few sips thirst-
Quenching, melodies, single spout of
Falling water. Ancient memories linger
Here, passions ruling tribal hearts. I,
Willow, imagine Celts worshiping or
Archaic tribes, learnéd scholars say,
Roamed Hebridean island heights.

In wistful seclusion, such mysteries
I ponder, other times, past dreams,
Hopes, affections for those before me,
Love held for this secret place, I dare
Not call my own. Primeval wandering
Clans, knowing, cautious eyes, lose not
Your fire, yearning for next horizon,
Remote islands seashores, enchanted
Spring welling forth, living stone,
Mystic charms possessed. I am here,
Ageless pathways my guide.

Listening closely, watery refrains, this
Spring, wisdom revealed, recollections
Time-woven, landscape uplifting when
Ancient ice retreated, brimming cup,
Water flowing  forth from fractured
Stone, yearning sunny days, starry nights,
Light of silver moon, place built not by
Human hands, life renewing for all
Sipping from clear streams. How can
Future bring more joyous days than this,
Especially for an island girl like me?

Thanks for reading and for following.

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