A lonely solitary sound
floats slowly 'cross a mountain stream;
a voice broad and and quite unfound,
his song a long consuming dream.
No meadowlark has pined as sweet
or brought such beauty near complete;
his plaintive strains of purity
enrapture life in symphony.
No springtime trill of whippoorwill
which breaks the still of silent night
can touch so much my naked will
or shine as bright a healing light.
No Sirens of exotic seas,
heard off the Southern Hebrides,
could lift so high my troubled soul
now filled to full and joyous whole.
He sings the ancient dialect
of Highland Gaelic, lost to me,
yet language lost does not affect
perfection in its melody.
And suddenly I see him now;
He takes a low and private bow
then sees me standing here amiss -
from lip of bliss, he throws a kiss.
Poem by Tammy C.