Highland Ghosts [alternate Edit] Poem by R K Summers

The grumbling tide
Has circled wide
The histories of men
And all the while,
The drums
Or guns
Come closer 'cross the fen

This ancient isle
That seems to smile
The haunted land of old
The spirits gather
In stormy weather
Where ghostly tales are told

Footprints of a cloven hoof
Stride across a snowy roof
The De’il's loose in Highland place
To Mark his witches 'cross the face

The Beasts the wander
Fen and moor
Tarn and loch and brake
Howl the night
Prelude the might
Of dragon, wyrm and drake

A storm by day
The Highlands say
Breeds pestilence and blight
But fortunes fair
No guns
For sons
When storms come by night.

'This is an alternate edit of the original Highland Ghosts, also by me; edited for contest purposes.' - KS