Take me back to Clarkston

Will you take me back to Clarkston when the wildflowers are in bloom? And the rolling Scottish meadows breathe their scent in every room And the views across the valley are the fairest in the land If you’ve ever been to Clarkston then I know you’ll understand.

There’s Badger Hill and Deilstone Field and buzzards overhead There’s Bronze Age cairn and iron fort, their makers long since dead There’s history on every hand, the ceaseless march of time That makes your cares seem very small and very far behind.

No sound intrudes to break the spell that falls upon your room There’s nothing moving in the yard but a fox beneath the moon Then spirits of a thousand cows who stand to milk no more Stir as a fresh dawn paints the sky and steals across the floor

Come morning, you explore the farm, the stables, barn and store They’ve stood upon this blessed spot, two hundred years and more The walls, rough-hewn from sandstone blocks, hand-quarried by the Clyde Will still be there when we are gone and centuries more beside

I’ve quit dear Clarkston many times, in sun and wind and rain But always something draws me back to touch this place again Though tide and fortune come and go and fate be ever strange The welcome here’s the one I know and that will never change.