1739: The Sailing

come, my lass.
for ye, a wee story told,
better, a history, might you hold.
a kinship, that came to pass
from lochs and glens surely to last.

decades, before the clearings would bare.
freedom mirrored by land,
a purpose for all clansman.
each to passion, truly and dear
venturing they up the carolina’s cape fear.

forest green and highland stones,
from skye, kintyre and balinakill
mcalester, campbells, the family mcneill
pressing onward, new church and homes
yet the passing, the unknowns.

images of tartans and sett.
fingering, the blackwood whistles
boarding has begun, the westerly “thistle”.
with faith in God, may the passing let
through births, deaths, destinies have met.

to sleep. my lass.
forget not. what thee told.
for ye cousins of old,
it is their memories, we must hold.