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Thistles In The Clouds ©

Sonja Nic Rafferty

Where thistles are reflected by the clouds,
And monsters are supposed in lochs,
There lies my secret fairy tale land.

Where proud castles hail the railway traveller,
And stonework festively glitters,
There I spent my nicest hours.

Where the "Athens of the North" grants me warmth,
And I haven't missed any beach of the world,
There I gave my heart to a land.

Where thistles not only grow on hills,
And I painted them with colours of melancholy,
There I met the adventure of "Discovery".

Where I crossed the Highlands in an old VW,
And 1971, in vain, I traced my father,
There astonished, I caught sight of my reflected image.

Where in Mid Craigie, Dad's house no longer exists,
And I desperately always come back,
There for all that I detect traces.

Where I was guest at a comprehensive,
And taught pupils in uniform,
There I wish to have profession for longer.

Where we found golf balls in the wild camomile,
And you talked about your childhood,
There again I would like to taste freedom.

Where thistles are reflected by the clouds,
And I see the flower of Scotland everywhere,
There a dream becomes reality.

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