Island of Saints.

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Saint Brendan came to Bute searching his soul
Christened the earth with celtic fire, still burning
Then Ninian, Marnock, Catan, Colmac, Blane
Seeds of Dalriada blossomed with the Gael


Glenvoidean,
Tranquil green pathway rolling down to the shore
They sailed here from Basque Amorica,
Left their bronze in the chamber cairn
And the dark haired children in farmers faces


Dunagoil,
Hill of strangers under the ancient fort
A place free of time in an ocean of space
Black basalt stepping stones where Fingle fled Eire
Over crashing spray, swirling kelp, seal spirits


Rhubodach,
A rugged highland heart rules a faint lowland head
The tide gurgles through the kyles, like Caol Illa
Your head cradled in the tresses of Cowal
Torn from Argyll by a river in the sea


Loch Fad,
Fault line, ley line, gateway to other worlds
sand is shifting, water is still, stars fill the pitch-dark sky
We fish by night with the osprey moon hunter
And we rise at dawn cooking trout in the embers


St. Blanes chapel,
You hear and feel echoes from the Isle of Iona
Crosses and a wee church grace the heavenly hollow
Where missionary men banished the Gaelic tongue
Stones bare the names of Macmillans, MacKellars, Mackirdies


Stravannan bay,
I see the sleeping warrior resting over Arran
Kilbranan sound is a tide of calm eternal blue
The gulls, the cormorants, the trawlers and the yachts
Breaking the wake in the bright midsummer sun


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