WATER OF LIFE

Catch me a fragment of a Highland stream
through heather moor, let percolate and fill,
mix with malted grain and copper's gleam,
warm with peaty fire, and twice-distil.

Age it in a cask of solid oak
in patient caverns let it breathe, and rest.
The amber aromatics, let them soak
and bring me Scotland, as a nectar pressed.

Inhale the honeyed accents of Speyside
Dalwhinnie, the Balvenie, Aberlour;
the lowland Auchentoshan, from the Clyde;
into Edinburgh crystal, let it pour!

Take a packet steamer to the Isles
to Jura, and to Orkney's Highland Park.
Talisker's brisk smokiness beguiles
from under brooding Cuillins, subtly dark.

But let me stay by choice in Islay's arms
the tang of Bowmore - bonfire on a beach!
Laphroaig, Ardbeg, Caol Isla's breezy charms
Bruichladdich's lemon, lime and peach.

And here before me, luscious to behold
untouched by water from our English rain,
Lagavulin, sixteen summers old
my heritage, returned to me again.