A bitter wind howls through the glen.
The thistle, sturdy and strong;
Its purple flower shivers silently.
Peat-stained burns trickle
Among stones, downhill, greeting a stream.
The brown, clear water melds into it,
Carried to the black, churning sea.
Short tufts of wild oat struggle to survive
The lashing of blizzard snowflakes
Beating against all in its path.
The highland cattle, hair matted and hanging
Stand firm like abandoned castle walls
Covered in green moss and dampness.
The gray sky, angry and cloud-filled
Spreads its misery over the land.
Smoke rising from a croft's chimney,
Carried away, enveloped by the chill.