Monday, July 25, 2016


My heart’s in the highlands
My heart is not here
My heart’s in the highlands
A-chasing the deer
Or else down on Fourth Street
Ordering beer
Armed with a fiz-gig
A sort of a spear
Used to hunt fishes
Not to hunt deer.

My heart’s in the highlands
I told you before
My heart got all huffy
And stormed out the door
About half past three
Or a quarter to four
Using foul language
(Which one must deplore)
And left for the highlands
Or else for the shore.

My heart’s in the highlands
Unless it has crawled
Out on the highway
Where it has stalled
And waits grim and mopish
Thence to be hauled
By some way-worn tow truck
With tires gone bald.
My heart isn’t home now
I’ll tell it you called.

(Note: I am delighted but puzzled that some people in Germany and Russia have been reading this obscure blog. If you have a moment, I'd be curious to know how you came across it. Meanwhile, welcome!)

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