Highland Laddies

Meadow grass trampled
Dust hangs quietly large men
Prean in sweat stained Ts
And highland grunge

Soil stained tartans
Swirl and flare as hammers
Stones and cabers fly with grunts
To impossible lengths with thuds

Denting bruised pasture
Amid roars of appreciation
From dandy crowds in Rob Roy
Dress on rough hewn stands

Another day at the Highland games
Feats of war from long ago
Kept alive and vibrant still
The prize now cash not honor

Poetry by josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 156 times
Written on 2018-08-14 at 13:46

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
I wish I knew what the Highland games are, but they seem to have a bit of everything to enjoy. Your descriptions are so vivid, I wish to be there at the Highland games.