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The hike was steady; seldom hard.
It led me from a highland town
To where wild waters thunder down.
I climbed through moss, so green and soft,
Until I found a broken croft.
Its walls were ragged, tired and spent.
Its bridge a ruin; wrecked and bent.
In lichen beeches, birdies trilled.
I heard their chirping as it spilled
Along the valleys, up the straths,
Anent the braes and down the paths.
The banks were orange, rust and gold.
The season’s colour; hued and bold.
The foaming falls were loud and brash,
And 'gainst the gorge I watched them crash.
The view was long, the crest was high.
The sun shone meekly in the sky,
Projecting shadows 'neath the trees
That lightly jostled in the breeze.
Upon the crown I spied Moness,
The giddy point where falls egress.
And then, Ben Vrackie, soaring tall:
The vastest mountain of them all.
With brimming heart I ambled back
Along the lean and muddy track,
To join the scribe upon his seat,
A wealth of leaves about his feet.
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