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Only A Bluebell ©

Ian McCrae
Sydney, Australia

Only the Bluebell
Only a song
Only a thought,
That Lingers on.

Bluebells and thistles, out on the moor
Soft summer winds, on the western shore,
Not just a dream, not just a song
The 'Bluebells of Scotland' will linger long.

The wild roses are dancing, when in full bloom
The sweet smell of summer, all through my room,
The soft summer winds and an old Scottish song
'The Wild Roses of Scotland', will linger on,

An old violin, they’re on the wall
An old walking stick, at the end of the hall,
Just round the corner, wild brambles grow
Back home in Scotland, I loved the snow.

The songs and stories, on a dark winter night
Ghosts and goblins, were my delight,
In a far off land, in a castle of dreams
Back Home in Scotland where the grass is so green.

Daffodils and snowdrops, out on the hill
Memoirs that linger, like a cold winter chill,
The warmth of a coddle, then breakfast in bed
Back in old Scotland, in my old father’s shed.

Just one thing more before I forget
The smell of the heather without regret,
The taste of the water down in the burn
Back in Scotland, the warm summer's sun.

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