Whispers of the Heather Path

In the shadow of the ancient oaks, Where the river whispers secrets old, A wanderer's heart beats slow and low, Through the mist, the wild winds call. The heather blooms in purple fire, Under skies of endless gray, I tread the path my fathers knew, Chasing dreams that slip away.

Oh, the glen, my heart's true home, Where the pipes weep and the fiddles roam, Through the storm, I'll find my way, To the arms of the emerald bay.

Exiled far by kings of stone, Cross the seas, the tempests roar, Yet in dreams, I hear the song, Of the fairy rings and lore. The bodhrán drums like thunder's kin, Echoing tales of love and loss, I'll return when stars align, No chain can hold this spirit's cost.

Oh, the glen, my heart's true home, Where the pipes weep and the fiddles roam, Through the storm, I'll find my way, To the arms of the emerald bay.

Now the dawn breaks o'er the hill, And the light chases shadows deep, With the harp's soft, soothing strings, I lay my weary soul to sleep. The circle turns, the wheel of time, Brings me back to where I belong, In the glen, eternal and kind, Where the old songs forever prolong.

Oh, the glen, my heart's true home, Where the pipes weep and the fiddles roam, Through the storm, I've found my way, To the arms of the emerald bay.

Oh, the glen...