The Lark Of Scots Pine Bluff
Connor Tuttle
GENRE
[Verse 1]
The storm outside was raging on
And drifts of snow began to walk
Like frozen waves in milky seas
And egg whites whipped to froth
It seemed as if a northern fleet
Laid siege that tiny lodge of stone
Where icy hounds sent forth their breaths
To break and steal our warmth
Within, we sat before the hearth
With stores of ale and salted beef
And wood enough to help us spin
Our yarns of warmer days
And as the wind outside did blow
And whistle tunes betwixt the trees
I cleared my throat and told this tale
“The Lark of Scots Pine Bluff.”
[Verse 2]
“T’was seven years I spent abroad
My lute, my only constant friend
And though its strings and frets were worn
They kept me well and fed
One day, I sat upon a beach
To give my calloused feet a rest
And whilst I sat, I plucked those strings
To keep their tune in pitch
I watched the waves come rolling in
And softly lap the thirsty sand;
I played my lute to match its beat
And let my fingers soar
I closed my eyes and lost myself
Within the sun’s caressing warmth
Where images in shades of red
Danced slowly on my lids
[Verse 3]
Somewhere within our melody
A voice began to rise and sing
And join our song of lapping lore
With whispers of the sea
Her Gaelic tones were seraphic
In trills and tumbles full and strong
My hands upon the strings did burn
From fret to fret they fled
So rapt was I within a trance
My soul, my heart, my essence all
Asleep, yet roused in dreamlike state;
I feared to break that spell
For when I cracked my cursed eyes
To see from whom that voice did fare
I saw upon a beached tree branch
A little lark did stand
The storm outside was raging on
And drifts of snow began to walk
Like frozen waves in milky seas
And egg whites whipped to froth
It seemed as if a northern fleet
Laid siege that tiny lodge of stone
Where icy hounds sent forth their breaths
To break and steal our warmth
Within, we sat before the hearth
With stores of ale and salted beef
And wood enough to help us spin
Our yarns of warmer days
And as the wind outside did blow
And whistle tunes betwixt the trees
I cleared my throat and told this tale
“The Lark of Scots Pine Bluff.”
[Verse 2]
“T’was seven years I spent abroad
My lute, my only constant friend
And though its strings and frets were worn
They kept me well and fed
One day, I sat upon a beach
To give my calloused feet a rest
And whilst I sat, I plucked those strings
To keep their tune in pitch
I watched the waves come rolling in
And softly lap the thirsty sand;
I played my lute to match its beat
And let my fingers soar
I closed my eyes and lost myself
Within the sun’s caressing warmth
Where images in shades of red
Danced slowly on my lids
[Verse 3]
Somewhere within our melody
A voice began to rise and sing
And join our song of lapping lore
With whispers of the sea
Her Gaelic tones were seraphic
In trills and tumbles full and strong
My hands upon the strings did burn
From fret to fret they fled
So rapt was I within a trance
My soul, my heart, my essence all
Asleep, yet roused in dreamlike state;
I feared to break that spell
For when I cracked my cursed eyes
To see from whom that voice did fare
I saw upon a beached tree branch
A little lark did stand
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