By Bob Smith.
A wanner’t lonely as a clood
A stravaig’t throwe hills an pines
Fin aa at eence a saw aroond
A host o bliddy win’ turbines
Abeen the loch reachin ti the sky
Their massive blades a did espy
Conteenyus as the stars aat shine
They sproot on the taps o hills
Streechin in an nivver eynin line
We’re telt they’ll cure oor energy ills
Meybe nae ten thoosan at a gleck
As alang ma waak a did trek
The waves in loch aside me dunced
As turbine blades they did turn
A swore, a shook, a fairly prunced
An a near fell in a burn
A gazed an gazed in sombre stare
As whirlin blades they rent the air
Aft fin on ma cooch a lie
In vacant or in turmoil mood
There flashes in ma myn’s eye
An image a see fit’s nae good
An syne ma hairt wi anger fills
As a see crockaneetion on the hills
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 28/10/2014
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