Just west of old Ben Lomond, high and gray,
a downy-heathered island on a loch
did soak our feet before we rowed away
for western shores, to find a little dock
in Luss. A pot of tea to warm our bones,
and meat pies, piping hot, our stomachs fill.
Through graveyards did we walk, under the stones
arched high, where crossbones warn all men of ill.
Then we betook ourselves ‘neath early stars
and setting sun to bonny Balmaha
where on the bank the ladies had begun
to sing Loch Lomond’s Banks; thus, filled with awe,
we sat and listened to the last refrain
echoing out o’er Lomond’s glassy plain.
J. David Graham lives with his wife and son in Charleston. As a student, he studies Classics and Creative Writing. He is also the poetry editor at Adversus Press, a magazine of Christian literature.
I love how I participate in this sonnet. Your verse and choice of words apt. The high part for me was:
A pot of tea to warm our bones,
and meat pies, piping hot, our stomachs fill.
Through graveyards did we walk, under the stones
arched high, where crossbones warn all men of ill.
Well done.