A trail of hardship
For those who walked
Oatmeal for feed
And whisky
For warmth.
Drover’s of many
Cattle to the mainland
And so in the cold
Of early morn
They made their way.
Capes of sacks
Tied with rope
When rain lashed down
Whisky their only relief.
Hardened of elements
Aged not they
As the Lairds lay sleeping
And maidens dreaming
The drover’s made their
Ghostly way.
Silence of the forest
Shadows all around
Rocks underfoot
Cattle stumbled around.
Mile upon mile
Slow was the pace
Year after year
The drover followed the trail.
As you embark upon the trail
Be not afraid at night
If you come upon
Bedraggled stranger
Voice of Gaelic
With a wee dram in hand
Smile, but be silent
Unless the cattle be startled
Upon this mist covered trail.
By
Poet of the Isles © 2009
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