Hours at Comrie -
In the morning we gathered up stories,
Climbed them up the stepped cliff,
Each bend and curve of ridge,
Of torrent and waterfall,
Carried a line of light that traveled
Like surface fire along with us,
Then, together, all, back down,
Passing house after house,
Through a forest opening
To the village edge, just there
The wooded knoll,
The red flood,
Wrapped inside the warmth of
Summer night and clouds draped so low
They were close enough to touch,
Along the road of meadowsweet
Where a river meets one and then another,
Joining, turning over their silver threads
Along the bridge of Ross,
One river now, carried off the Earn
Into the world beyond.
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