A few photos of Nevermore in Scotland and England. To see the other seven photos go here: NEVERMORE
“This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!”
It is the height of summer in Scotland and the flowers are blooming profusely. Here are several macro shots taken while in Edinburgh and along Saint Cuthbert’s Way in Scotland. If you wish to see the other six, you can find them here at my website: Macro Moments.
This bread I break was once the oat,
This wine upon a foreign tree
Plunged in its fruit;
Man in the day or wine at night
Laid the crops low, broke the grape’s joy.
Once in this time wine the summer blood
Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine,
Once in this bread
The oat was merry in the wind;
Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down.
This flesh you break, this blood you let
Make desolation in the vein,
Were oat and grape
Born of the sensual root and sap;
My wine you drink, my bread you snap.
An empty heart,
Cold and bleak,
In the winter of desire.
The haunting lament of
A mourning dove echoes
Down its abandoned
As withered leaves
Scatter before a frigid wind.
I wander the desolate
Passages of my heart,
Searching for signs
But find only desiccated weeds,
Cold, cracked tiles, and
A stagnant pool where
Once life proffered
An alternate existence,
And the melody of the
Dove was a lullabye.