It is easy to be a poet in Scotland,
for there is poetry in everything here.
In the evening light that shines on colored leaves,
In the small chimneys, huddling up to each other on the roofs,
In the old cemeteries, so ancient and steeped in history,
In the tussock grass, gilded by the autumn sun,
In the misty shoreline, where sea gulls mew in a salty breeze.
(Bentschie)
The Blogmopped 