Dressed to Kill on the Hill by Motorhome
Inverlochy Castle, with Ben Nevis
The Last Munro
I dream of the thrill as I climb a sloping hill
The heather and the bracken are abounding
Warm sun upon my back I trek the worn track
A shell explodes my eardrums are apounding
Still within a dream I see a mountain stream
Tumbling to the loch down in the glen
An eagle rules the sky my hopes are soaring high
A shell explodes the cry of wounded men
My pace is strong and sure I hear a curlew on the moor
I do so wish that I had wings to fly
To rise to what I seek and perch atop the lofty peak
A shell explodes I watch a comrade die
I rest upon my task sipping whisky from a flask
Regarding the summit in my sight
In peaceful great Glencoe to climb my last Munro
A shell explodes another hellish night
Aware of creeping toxic stench
A strange white mist invades the trench
Ice cold shivers a chill so deep
I sudden feel the need to sleep
A shell explodes
The Tourist Path, Ben Nevis
Park Motorhome at Glen Nevis car park
‘Aw, Josie, whit are we daein’ awa’ oot here are ye tryin’ tae kill me?’
‘Whit dae ye mean, Francie?’
‘My foreheid’s bein’ frazzled wi’ the sun and my wee legs are bein’ cremated, Josie.’
‘Francie, ye should’ve worn the proper attire. No’ short troosers ankle soaks an’ sandals.’
‘But, Josie, you said that I wis tae dress for tae kill.’
‘Naw, Francie, I said that ye were tae dress for a hill, ye know what I mean, Francie?’
‘Sure, Josie, sure, Josie.’
Perhaps you would enjoy reading the adventures of Francie and Josie.
http://purepoetry.co.uk/links_15.html
