Kenneth C. Steven
Jura
From Carsaig you can see it,
Three peaks rising up out of the Atlantic
Like a sea monster, the ridge of a dragon’s back.
What is there to find but a scattering of houses,
A road, a hotel, then nothing?
It drifts into mist, a huge loneliness,
Composed of bracken and rock and moor and cave.
Who comes to look? Who bothers
To cross the few sea miles
To watch some great mound of empty stone
Drift into the distance?
This busy world would think it worthless -
A barren landfall on the edge of sanity.
To me it is wondrous, priceless,
That after the random chaos of our cities
Such things should still remain, such islands of refuge
Uncharted and untamed, like eagles.
Page(s) 38
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