Glencoe (Poetry)

The valley in the red-streaked dawn
the light upon the hills
spreading its cold tongues of fire
in rolling, liquid spills

and somewhere on the crowding heights
a far-off bugle sounds
sends shivers through the waiting air
while, deep, the earth’s heart pounds

in expectation. Then a hush —
the moment clear as glass
it seems the spirits hold their breath
above this time-locked pass...

A breeze, uneasy from its sleep
wakes dreaming air, and stirs
moves the grass as shadows run
between the edging firs.

A sudden shout and Hell erupts
beneath indifferent skies
as men break cover, wielding swords
pure murder in their eyes

and deafening that clash of steel
the screams that echo round
the thunder of the horses’ hooves
upon the blood-soaked ground...

That slaughter was a horror show
its aftermath a scar
the wounded land bears like a brand
to prove what brutes men are

that they could take a valley, wild
and desecrate its name
with acts so vile that history
remembers just the stain.