1739: the sailing

 
come, my lass.
for ye, a wee story told,
better, a history, might you hold.
a kinship, that came to pass
from lochs and glens surely to last.

decades, before the clearings would bare.
Freedom, mirrored by land,
a  purpose  for all clansman.
each to passion, truly and dear
venturing they up the carolina’s cape fear.

forest green and highland stones,
from skye, kintyre and balinakill
mcalester,  campbells, the family mcneill
pressing onward, new church and  homes
yet the passing, the unknowns.

images of tartans and sett.
fingering the blackwood  whistles
boarding has begun, the westerly “thistle”.
with faith in God, may the passing let
through births, deaths, destinies have met.  

to sleep, my lass
forget not, what thee told
for  ye cousins of old,
it is their memories, we must hold.