A Fishing Spot

When the fisherman is gone are the fish still there?

The Fisher's Trsyt

by Donald Lampard

Go down the path between the trees,
across the burn, beyond the stile,
Until you reach red sandstone cliffs,
beneath the bridge of Ballochmyle.
Here, three boys once fished in peace,
with simple rod and hand-tied fly,
Not knowing that in Flanders Field
two of them were soon to die.

Up above the salmon pool,
engraved upon the living stone,
Memorials to those who died,
by one who grieved to fish alone.
Unsurpassed by abbey tomb,
by mausoleum or cenotaph,
Names and dates hand carved with pride.
Their everlasting epitaph.

If you wish to pay respect,
to Scottish soldiers long since dead,
Ignoring pomp and pageantry,
go to the Fisher's Tryst instead.
It's down the path between the trees,
across the burn, beyond the stile,
Until you reach the sandstone cliffs,
beneath the bridge at Ballochmyle.

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Photo by Robert J. Fraser Andrews. Highland Tour 1998 Copyright.