Elizabeth Angus

The Buachaille

An upthrust craggy pyramid,
your rocky head hid
in cloud: my boot slid
across your flanks.
You didn’t feel me.

I clung to your stony face,
watched shadows chase
the sun, and race
towards the night:
You didn’t see me.

Blood banged in my head.
Grazed knuckles bled:
I slipped, and overhead
a kestrel screamed.
You didn’t hear me.

A million years you’ve stood:
a senseless heap of crude
granite, and suppose I could
climb here for a million more,
you’d never know me.

Copyright © Elizabeth Angus 2013

Elizabeth Angus was raised on the Hebridean island of Islay and now lives beside Loch Lomond. She is an outdoor instructor, and the natural world prompts her to write.

About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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