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THE KYLES OF BUTE

 

It isn’t quite puple, nor is it quite green
But a mixture of colours somewhere in between.

The heather that blankets the side of that hill
Is constantly changing, it’s never quite still.
Cloud shadows that dapple their way through the days
Will bring to this palette the subtlest of greys.
The bracken and gorse add the rustier hues
While the water’s a mirror of gunmetal blues..

There’s nothing to clash - not a colour too bright,
Just an old crofter’s cottage that used to be white.

Yet, as soon as the sun finds its way through the haze,
It’s as though, for the moment, the heather’s ablaze
Like a carpet of jewels embellished with gold.
It’s gone in a second, the picture’s grown cold.

It isn’t quite purple, nor is it quite green
But a mixture of colours somewhere in between.

 

 

 Latou                                                           1996



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