You stand so solid
Against harsh weather and time
We thrive in valleys
About the Creator
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More stories from Liz Santis and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Glens Left Quieter
The passage a’ time cannae erase the hurt— Ah want tae tak ye doon the past, tae darker spells in Alba’s legacy. ... Ah mind when the weans and families ootnumbered the bleatin’ o’ sheep— when the land lay rich and breathin’, afore it was reined in for profit dressed as progress, ower hill and glen, through bogs o’ reekin’ peat. ... We were lifted— hauled like cargo— flung ower the ocean tae a New World that didnae ken our names. ... As auld Field Marshal Raglan led men tae die in Crimea, many o’ oor ain were sent awa— the glens left thinner, quieter. ... And those that stayed— the lairds’ men came creeping, no wi’ banners, but wi’ papers and fire. ... They took the hames from lassies and weans, bold where there were none tae fight back— cowards, aye, that wouldnae face the men if the men had still been there. ... And when the soldiers, worn and torn, returned, what waited but the wind— slippin’ through emptied glens and valleys, where nought but sheep remain, and nae voices left tae outnumber them. * Thanks for reading!
By Paul Stewart2 days ago in Poets
Elderly Woman Behind the Table in a Large Town
The glass of Absinthe sat before me. It’s quite amazing how despite such terror rendered upon their stones in the preceding decades, these streets still held the beauty I first read about as a girl. I never dreamed I’d set foot on these cobbles, at least not safely.
By Matthew J. Fromm6 days ago in Art
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