‘Dreaming of Scotland’
Dreaming of Scotland
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
For a sweet woman. I won’t forget.
She was as pretty as a picture.
Fate had brought her to me at a dark tavern in Germany.
Her raging brown eyes and
auburn hair across gentle and soft shoulders.
Her fragrance of flowers on her tender skin open my senses to her beauty and
her Scottish accent made me wish to hear her sweet voice and be near her.
I was told to be kind to her.
Love was dead to me and
I was infected with rage and hate.
I tried to escape her beautiful face.
Drinking and trying to blind my hunger for happiness and
she found me at the tavern.
She wrapped her arms around me.
Kissed my neck, face and lips.
She whispered “Love is a powerful storm.
Please don’t speak and allow us to love.”
In the mist of softness and opening new doors to joy and bliss.
Sometime you forget to create a safety net to protect yourself
and your sweet love.
A warm Germany summer allow two people to fall into the mercy
of a sweet love. Swim in the gifts young hearts can understand .
Summer was ending and
my Scotland beauty was going home.
She told me of Scotland.
The beauty of the country and the good people.
I told her.
I wanted her forever and
I talked of marriage.
Love took my hand and
she whispered.
“We had a short time to stay together.
I allow you into my heart. Sometime words don’t mean a lot.
Love never does died. It only falls asleep till we can open the
door again.”
She went home and
I got lost in the booze and liquor.
Allowed the deserved load of pain to overtake my kindness.
I still went to the small lake
and I dream of Scotland.
Coyote
2010
I dreamed of Montreal.
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Montreal is beautiful. I went to her in 1982. A beautiful city.
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There is an intrigue here of pain and gladness, joy and sadness.
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A sad memory. We remember what we lost. Thank you Doc Arnett for reading and the comment. I do appreciate.
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Of those who rush in …
ain’t we all ?
Sometime it’s our guardian angels who pay the toll.
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The Dreaming …
John, I recently drove from one end of Caledonia to the the other … at the height of the late light summer Caught the ferry to the Islands of Orkney.
Got lost in the highland scenery whilst walking with the Elders of my ancestry.
Drank the finest whisky with my one and only lovely
lassie.
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You are a lucky man. 40 years ago. I was young and foolish.
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Of those who rush in . . .
ain’t we all ?
Sometimes it’s our guardian angels who pay the toll.
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