Mountains And Rivers Mountains and rivers,
And fast flowing streams,
My beautiful homeland,
The land of my dreams.
The trees stand so tall,
They reach into the sky,
I glance to the heavens,
An eagle swoops by.
The sun casts its spell,
On the mountain below,
As clouds cast their shadow,
The tides ebb and flow.
The long winding roads,
Wend their way through the glen,
I’ve been here before,
But I can’t recall when.
The soft velvet green,
Of the high distant hills,
Now caught by an artist,
On the canvas he fills.
He’s captured the scene,
With some oils and a brush,
He’s been there for hours,
He has no need to rush.
The fields brown in patches,
Await late summer’s bloom,
The sweet anticipation,
For heather comes soon.
A riot of purple,
A sight to behold,
Soon joined by the broom,
Shining bright burning gold.
The mountains and rivers,
The lochs and the streams,
I was there and I touched them,
And it wasn’t a dream.
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