Id like to prefix this piece of work with an acknowledgment to Nabila for her lovely poem "Green Eyes" which started me thinking about genetics and inspired me to write this poem.

 

 

Whence do you come my little red haired laddie?

Your vibrant beacon light, blazing bright

In this ditch-dull drear-dull world?

What random thrown genetic dice

Created the glory of your past?

Those wild warriors, war cries echoing

Down time. Through mountain glen, a call to men

To rally, unite, attack and fight.

Let flow the proud MacDonald blood

In death defence of hearth and home.

They are your kin, these ghostly warriors.

I see it in the proud tilt of your head

Which says I will not yield.

I see it in the stubborn set of your jaw

The solid stance of your feet

Which root the ground whilst others flee.

I see it in the defiant glint of your eyes

That meet head on confrontation and censure.

I see it in the unbreakable will from centuries past

Of men who held the land and fought

Untamable and proud for what was theirs.

I smell the heather in your flaming hair

And hear the wild mountain bourns in your laugh.

That proud MacDonald clan did not perish

Long ago and forgotten

On the blood soaked earth

In the Vale of Glen Coe.

They are here.

Now.

In you.