My Scottish Friend
I have no wires to Mystic be,
Nor was I raised by Scottish sea,
But from my days of camping near
The lake, I grew without the fear –Which many have who dwell away
From bush and wildlife every day;
Who fear what is to them unknown,
So find discomfort in that zone.But I was also city raised,
Suburban in my growing days;
Though never seen or felt to be
One of their number, I could see –Their way of life; their values held;
Their fears and hatreds – in me swelled
A longing that they might be free,
And that has stayed a part of me.For in between the bush and burbs,
There was this town which was superb;
I learned what was community,
It set the standard high for me.If I could somehow help folks see,
The essence of community –
Our rural roots of urban life,
Perhaps we could reduce the strife.So Mystic? No, though blessed I’ve been,
By Scottish friend whom God has seen,
In boyhood days of Scottish mists,
Iona, crofts, by Highlands kissed.How blessed I’ve been throughout my days;
His presence in our land portrays
A vision of where we have been
These generations since we’ve seen –That country where our kith and kin
Grew up, grew old, grew deeper in
The things of God, and Kirk, and praise,
Expressed in Scottish paraphrase.One time he teetered on the brink
Of life and death – gave us to think
Of time when we would walk no more
With Mystic friend from Scottish shore.“Ten years you’ve got”, the doctor said,
As he lay praying on that bed
For time to raise his daughter up –
That granted – hence that blessed cup –Has been extended through his hand
More years to others in this land;
How blessed indeed – grand-kids, and more
Of spirit type, here on this shore.Thanks.
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