There is no path to the broch
It is the Way untravelled
The faeries who walk there
Come by dreamlines that
Straggled and snaked
Once upon the land.
What sort of creature could
Set out with neither map nor plan?
It’s obvious
Only a fool
A beast of a fool
And that would be a man.
The broch is down yet
Still crowns the strath
That tumbles in to
The ink black loch
Once ringed in white
With a winding path:
Long broken off from
The broken broch.