David Burt - An Anatomy of Hallucination

Poem


	MONARCH O' THE GLEN
	He stood proudly on the outcropped rock Glancing up and down the glen. A good keen eye rove o'er the scene Searching, back and forth again. He could smell the rain upon the wind As the dark clouds filled the sky, The evening mist gathered in the gloom Masking the curlew's cry.
	He stood there, proud and strong and true, Fleet of foot and firm of limb, This land was his, as far as the eye could see For who dare challenge him? The muscles rippled down his back As the cold mist embraced his form, This marvelous Monarch of the Glen Was prepared for the winter storm.
	His nostrils twitched, there, that evil smell, The musty stench of the hunting men, The only foe that froze the blood Of this Monarch of the Glen. They came with dogs and firesticks, And were relentless in their pursuit, They had one aim these hunting men To track a stag, then shoot!
	He'd battled with them annually, He knew the ways of hunting men, He bore the scars of close encounters Now they were after him again. It was time to leave the outcrop rock And that scenic Scottish glen, Time to hide above the snow line, Time to evade those hunting men.
	Monarch of the Glen (Audio)