From today's John O Groats Journal

[DSinc39156@aol.com]

It is long since I left my native land,
Where all my forebears lie,
Where the wind blows keen o’er vacant moors,
Beneath the dome of the sky.
But I shall never forget that land,
Nor the feel of the sun and the rain,
Nor the mile upon mile of heather in bloom,
Across the treeless plain.
Though time and age may make me frail,
That spell will hold me fast,
And bring me thoughts of peace and quiet,
And comfort at the last.
Though my bones will lie in the city’s smoke,
Beside those loved by me,
My spirit will wander theCaithness moors,
Till all eternity.