The River Tay gushes,
lovely in romance and ardour,
passing history rushes
stripped of its shining armour.
Autumn leaves turning
alive while the summer suns strike
falling to earth while burning
Whatever lovebirds like.
Passion in Dunkeld holding
Marshalled pipes of youth
Older days unfolding
massaged River’s golden roof.
Here and there run honey dews
splashing day and night
sticking to the canvass hues
glistening in the light.
Slopes and banks of mousse and chocolate
mossy beds on rock
and still, the river rushes, late
as seasons turn with nature’s clock.