Hope And Haggis

(A love letter to a far off distant land i like to call home)  
 
And so I find myself anew
transplanted,
somewhere familiar
yet all new.  

A new life,
a new dream,
with a suitcase
full hope and dreams  

As I stop to gather my surroundings
lush green trees,
breath-taking landscapes,
on all sides surround me.  

Sat on a finger
of a giant metal hand,
enjoying time,
with the ghost of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
watching over me,
 peering over my shoulder,
his statue a bronze metallic lush
offering a hand not a fist,
welcoming new travellers and settlers alike  

Here it’s never dark but always summery;
she can be at times mysterious, magical and somewhat illusionary.  

The streets are paved with hope and haggis,
 black pudding,
and not a hint of malice.  

There’s history in the old town
shaking hands with the present.  
Buildings and Spires never conspire against you  

With a bus service
that actually runs on time,
with tartan interior of a different kind.  

The beauty of Arthur’s seat still astounds
me like climbing a mountain
a dream over every horizon,
melting in to a meca of blissful nirvana.  

Majestic silence greets me like an old friend,
and in my higher state of being
I begin to ascend,  
 
Like a pilgrim finding his way on a golden path
I shall lay my hat and call this place home.  

In Edinburgh I found myself
I crafted a new life
in Edinburgh I fell in love
not once but twice.