THROUGH TIME’S DOOR AT ACHNACARRY®
Original, historically-based poetry about the loss that my Clan Cameron sustained at Achnacarry Castle, Scotland epochs ago.
Authored with pride by Donna J. Fennel on May 14, 2004 ~
Marking a legacy that lives on in our Clan Cameron history.
Revised for my Clan Cameron's surprise April 29, 2006.
My photo on the right is all that remains of our Clan Cameron Achnacarry Castle in the heart of the Scottish Highlands.
Sound was banished, in the dimness it hovered ~
‘Twas a somber twilight that had settled there.
Alone, I was along the somber Highland moor ~
Ne’er a whisper into journey of nebulous night.
My intent to solace my most tender of care ~
‘Twas now lost, as me this oppression covered
As tho I had traveled through time’s open door ~
Fear’s heart was pounding; resisting all flight
Reaching out, yet ‘twas seen none other so fair.
Great battles fought erstwhile brave men died.
Innocent youth was lost to legions ere brave.
Their names forgotten by story and song ~
Yet their entreaties grope to touch my pride
The earth gives up not, though many cried ~
Alas, far too many heroes sent to their grave.
Strange, that feeling ere woeful and strong ~
Chills down my back force me to turn to see
Nothing but darkness doth mine eyes abide.
A hill is climbed, while moor mists curl about ~
While pipes are heard pining for lost glories.
And shivering alone in the lair of solitude ~
My skin tingles as the ages spin swiftly past.
Hearken sounds of battle: Clang and shout!
Like bits and pieces of abandoned stories.
Rushing past me, in momentous magnitude ~
Irreverent desire to flee gains upon me fast
Yearning to seek a safe and warmer route.
Lo, suddenly it seemed the rays of sun took ~
How long I hath stood on this hill unknown!
So green and lovely, as Mother Earth shook ~
Her voluptuous breast ‘pon our Celtic home
Called Achnacarry, once our Cameron throne.
Hearken now, on yonder hill when all lay still
While night lurks, beckons this Celtic curse ~
Of banshee cries from bravehearts who died
Upon this earth, becometh now their hearse.
Alas, none but chimney of Achnacarry remains
As a sentinel, watching o’er our hills and plains.
‘Twas war lost by Clan Cameron, at great cost ~
Yet haunting tune of bagpipes harbors this loss.
Once home to regality as kin in House of Stewart ~
Echoeth woeful whispering of ghosts from our past
Knowing well, Achacarry’s spell reigns on evermore
Through time’s merciless cast, ‘pon Scottish moor ~
May our Achnacarry legacy live on, and legend last.
©2004-06 Donna J. Fennel, Owner of Donnadreamland. All rights reserved®.
"Strum a calming chord into the hearts of many ~
From the One’s loving lyre that is Heaven-spun.
For the asking price is not an ounce or a penny ~
To offer mercy aplenty for world peace to be won."
~ Donna J. Fennel - July 15, 2005 ~
"Do not go where the path may lead,
go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson ~
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Author: Donna J. Fennel | Copyright ©2003-06 donnadreamland | All rights reserved.
Revised: April 29, 2006.
