Promises of midsummer snowballs lie high on heathered hills
while castles and Culloden echo with the roar of clan battle cries.
An aromatic breeze carries a hint of malted whisky from the stills
and a rolling brogue to rumble from the lowlands to the hills.
Highland coos graze peacefully, ‘neath the blades of scattered windmills,
mists swirl in from somber seas to sweep a shroud – the shore’s disguise.
Crows disturb the farmers’ fields while buzzards guard the hills,
and Scotland’s heart beats fiercely to the bagpipe’s droning cries.