Day 200. Friday 2nd November 2018

A Sonnet for Scotland

© 2018 Steve Cook

There's a land in the far-flung North of here

Whose ancient power ne'er died but merely bides,

Like a warrior resting on his spear,

A falcon keeping one eye on the sky,

Whilst 'neath its folded wings some magic sleeps

That in a trice might wake, take wing and fly.

Methinks that land some olden promise keeps

Or something clear within it heart resides.

Behold, for Scotland's banners now unfurl

And her questing prow once more finds the tide.

The clansmen's clear-as-crystal power stirs,

The world shall know 'tis here free men abide.

Ne'er cowed nor beaten down by fools and knaves

The world doth need you now thou truly brave.