Upon a dark and distant shore,
sits a stone house of lost Scottish lore.
Shadowy windows face a timeless sea,
an immortal poet, still showing beauty, is she.

An ancient cloak hangs inside the door,
tattered and worn, left to the weather of the moor.
Used for warmth when the mists gathered cold,
folds of faded darkness, longing for days of old.

Left behind in the silence of the lonely dark,
a haunting memory, still leaving its mark.
Fleeting shadows form under a silvery moon,
traversing an endless eternity that came too soon.

Wraiths longing for voices and arms to embrace,
so long removed from our time and space.                
Floating forever through the universes endless stream,
called back to earth each night to fulfill their dream.

The moon reveals all during the darkest hour,
an experience of the haunting, magical power.
It is strange how familiar an unknown place can be,
when an apparitions endless eternity, for a moment, is set free.

Shay White