Gordon Glen
I BOUGHT a castle at Gordon Glen
Its cold stone echoing ancient times
And spent my days away from men
With putrid speech and tepid rhymes
The years ran by like passing clouds
My beard it changed from grey to white
As Time parades in pallid shrouds
On Scottish mounts in dead of night
When once there came a travelling man
Who'd traced the winding banks of Clyde
In search of milk and miller's bran
I fed him truth until he cried
© Troy Southgate