The Ballad of His Waiting
Looking out
over the loch
To the
mountains where she lay,
He thought
of Bess, his fair haired lady.
Would she
come to him today?
He peered
intent on that far shore
Could he see
her little boat?
Would Bess
row across the water
From her
croft, bleak and remote?
The mountain
pass was blocked that day,
A landslide
caused by heavy rain.
Mud and
rocks had tumbled down;
Bess tried
to get through in vain.
She turned
back towards her croft,
A loose rock
fell from overhead.
Struck her
full upon her brow;
Alas poor
Bess was laid down dead.
He didn’t
know about the fate
That had
befallen his sweet Bess.
He just
assumed that she was late,
Here she’d
be later on he guessed.
He skimmed
stones across the water,
Each one
carrying love to his miss.
He saw her
blue eyes in his mind
And those
lips he was yet to kiss.
Colin
Beardshall 2013.
