Five Nations Visit Loch Lomond

A Poem

Zealous steps on wet asphalt
On lands trod by medieval feet.
Five friends, five nations, drunk on
euphoria, prance like homecoming soldiers.

The American had a dream, that one day,
we'll occupy Loch Lomond. Insists on the
adventure, with gentle mien, to the
countryside where seagulls are benign drones.

Tourists and tenants bewitched, as dogs
cavort to wonderments of nearby deer.
Eden, in wintery bliss. Little wonder the Greek,
Aphrodite, sweeps through like she’s home.

Lush greens here, verdant views there:
animated with Gaelic whispers of trees.
The Filipino, armed with girlish and adobo
sweetness, clicks, and clicks for the ‘gram.

Balloch Castle preens like a retired cougar,
wrinkled from years of hosting suitors. Her
walls bear scars of forlornness and solace. A
familiar troll, perhaps, to the Argentine sense.

Departures hurt when the heart still brims with
awe. To abandon beauty is to lacerate the soul.
As reluctant feet exit, a poem sprouts inside the
Nigerian, to exalt nature and national harmonies.

Chris Ogunlowo, UK.