Scotland’s Pleistocene and Little Ice Age Glaciers Were Just as Pitiless

Despite the lochs our words were drowned unheard.

Despite the village on the Pentland hill,

Our words of love were lost.  Long decades shirred

Our love and words, and crinkled them to kill

Our chance.  The lochs did not provide the way

For forward love.  Our love itself could not.

The boring facts of life would not obey

Our hearts, not strongest hearts.  Both Should and Ought

Were crushing as the basalt rock above

The cottages and little wood, and we,

We two had only gorgeous, foreign love

Despite our finding serendipity.

  We had not known that Edinburgh heights

    For us would come and so we lost our nights.

~ Phillip Whidden