When I think of Scotland
I feel like a cut flower out of water,
a bird sighing for the egg,
a fish searching for that special inlet.

When I think of Scotland
There’s a fierceness in my heart
that longs to speak a language I don’t understand.
There’s a prickling in my finger tips
to touch the stones of crumbling castles.
There’s a thrilling in my soul
In a memory of pipes echoing through mist.

When I think of Scotland
There’s a sadness and a joy and a longing
To live my life in two places at once.