A dark night. The Loch broods on human intrusions.
Steep hills to the north, and gentler ones to east and south
frame but never overreach the rock green depths.
A gust, then a breeze, then a steady wind disturb the surface,
and broken clouds veil and unveil a distant moon.
A few cottage lights dot the shore. No-one watches
as a grey form rises slowly from the depths, insubstantial,
appears to hesitate, then glides westwards, towards
distant battlements it will never reach.
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