The Brooghs Of Bul Ny Gaw

Midst Nature’s unsung glory, which inspires man’s temporal awe,
Her Golden Primrose Vestments cloak the Brooghs of Bul Ny Gaw

While gorse may blossom in Glen Chass, proud ling adorn each hill,
The Shades of Pastoral Idyll haunt this grove on Garwick’s rill.

A rugged, wild neglected dell, small use to beast or man,
Carves for itself an annual niche in God’s Eternal Plan.

Wych elm, ash and sycamore, majestic canopies provide,
Variegated, stately overlay in verdant, sylvan pride.

Mark the cushat’s gentle courting; the blackbird’s false alarm.
While wren and dunnock forage in deep thicket safe and calm.

Though lour the clouds of worldly care, as life exacts her tolls,
The joyous cascades harmonize, healing balm for jaded souls.

Peerless amidst the grandeur, composed by Nature’s power,
Quintessential primrose pagentry, decks this sequestered bower.

The primrose blooms in hidden slough, hedge bottom well content;
Here she dominates creation, langourous her potent scent.

Tread with care the eyebrow path, there feast your questing gaze.
Past briar, and low hanging bough, gleams a further lustrous blaze.

Leaves whiffle to a vagrant breath, a bough creaks with the strain,
While insects harvest bounty from the Earth’s gilded counterpane

Sunlight glints from flaxen brooghs, glissando music from the stream,
Hypnotic clouds of fragrance grace enchantment’s waking dream.

Matchless amidst the splendour, ordains by Nature’s Law,
Her Golden Primrose Mantle crowns the Brooghs of Bul Ny Gaw.

David Kelly