When The Heather Grows

By Deborah Burch

How grows the heather in the moor
Does it still bloom as days of yore
When baited breath transfixed the lore
Of pixies, love, and beer

Where grouse went courting in the loam
In heathered rocks…a purple home
Of safety and part metronome
As dogs and beaters near

To hunt a brace of grouse…or two
Or coax a pixie into view
Or drink some heather beer…fresh brew
And walk beyond all blear

I long to see those purpled frills
Of Scotland’s heathered moorland hills
To breathe that fragrant wind that chills…
Oh! Heart hold back your tear.

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