Pim Claridge

Life in the Scottish Borders, one stanza at a time

Highland Lament

The rough and tumble of the waterfall
quietened as we reached the sun-slipped pool,
flowers mirrored in fragile stillness ached
to touch the swirls of peaty brown.
In silent honeysuckle air, we remembered you
in all your graciousness of spirit,
were grateful that we loved you all those years.
We threw flowers, bound with grasses,
and watched them disappear fom sight.

Reluctantly we turned in last farewell,
the pool lay desolate beneath a greying sky.