Sleeping beauty

rumours fly from the peaks of mount Bidean nam Bian

from the high moors and the shores of lochs Tummel and Tay

the human spirit but sleeps

a deep silent slumber in a bed of lichen and lore

his life not stolen by the raven to return nevermore

He needs just a small kiss from his beloved truth

I raise my glass not to death but life

to days filled with gratitude and wonder

to dark nights of silence, love and laughter

then to watch a crystal dawn

as truth rises from the north west south-eastern

the allround corners of our minds

she draws strength from these long dead volcanoes

that now shoot rainbows built from wild imaginings

and her lover waits…

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