Terror in the Glen
By Parson Thru
Wed, 09 May 2012
- 1605 reads
6 comments
Oh, mystery of the Highland night
Perfectionist of nasal flight
Caused the bedding to be rent
Struck terror in each darkened tent
The misty rain released a cloud
To make each Scotsman's heart fair proud
But the visitors, they could'nae ken
What's going on in the silver'd Glen
And swatted at the biting ghosts
To the merriment of their Scottish hosts
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Comments
Hello again, PT. This itchy,
Permalink Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on
Hello again, PT. This itchy, biting mosquito poem should be a candidate for a few cherries to keep your mind off the scratching. Cheers, or should I say, Deet. Richard
Richard L. Provencher
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Not mosquitoes....it's those
Not mosquitoes....it's those wee Scottish midgies - am I right?
Love the poem.
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I liked this poem so much,
Permalink Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on
I liked this poem so much, PT, I keep coming back to it. My best friend in Toronto, many years ago, was a Scotsman, John Kendall, a fearsome sort with a heart of gold. Are all Scots like that? Now there's an idea for a poem. Write about the impressions folks have re these men of the highlands. Did you know that Nova Scotia is Gaelic for New Scotland? We had a large influx of those daring lads from Ayershire? and beyond, and most settled in Cape Breton, apparently the spitting image of Scotland. Cheers, Richard
Richard L. Provencher
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