The Glen Of Weeping
Following wide fast flowing waters
I enter an ancient landscape.
Tall dark forests
Dripping green with lichen
Tower above banks of snowdrops.
Mists roll down the giant hillsides,
Their tops fringed with pines.
Black mountains capped with snow.
The Good Shepherd watches over us.
I hear pipers playing,
Feel the souls of centuries past.
In death they are my friends.
For a while
My restless spirit is at peace.
In the Glen of Weeping
I have come home.