Whole married march in rushes spread
Surpassing hanging eagle, led
Too loosely first by challenge call,
To faceless, wild, inward thrall.
Yet by return to storm again
Bedraggled, damp, we touch the glen.
Plain skimming strife at watersmeet
The Loch Bà bowl ordains our feet.
Along our path bare beasts do roam;
With each inch tread they mark their home
And some play dumb while others flee
The bound that turns the world to see.
Long reverie, all colours swell
Laid bold beside the calm blue well
Far stretching out the mirrored stare
To slip and flow from human fare.
Only time aggrieves the vista,
Mars a blissful camera era,
Fixes back the battered cap
And winds the film of later sap.
Retreating further gorges scars
Still itching hot all dreams of ours
Caressed by moments free as these
Among the mountains, lochs and trees.
Poetry Atlas has other poems about Argyll and Bute in Scotland.