I wrote this for Heather last year on another blog you will never see,
and do again that you might know her more …
papa
…………………………………………………………….
‘Heather’ as a word,
falls in a mem’ried pile of life’s moraine,
with ‘copse’ and ‘gorse’,
‘moor’ and ‘rill’ and ‘loch’.
Ah, to return to the Scottish highlands,
hills of endless grey and green,
blushed with pink and yellow dreams.
Crisscrossed waterfalls allow
of arching bridges and twisty roads,
leading to surprised vale mists
and dark lakes of mystery.
Yet, of all of this –
or perhaps because of all –
only one word became
a girl’s name,
rarely used today,
as ‘heath’ leads to ‘hearth’
and ‘heart’ and ‘home’
that we may
believe
again.
I love this poem, not only for our Heather, but it is my mother’s name as well and this poem sums her up perfectly too
wonderful
Good one, papa.
Si, I agree…’heather’ is exactly as it should be.
It’s a beautiful poem, papa faucon.
~ Ru
It is beautiful and perfect for our Heather!
and Heather is never far away – seems to be everywhere really – just roaming around them there hills.
Thanks so much faucon. Very sweet!