The Kelpie

Turbulent the addled brain,
as a cauldron brimming nigh,
bubbling, churning, needing to drain,
still young, yet the wits awry.

Scarce have I to settle thought
and tame this fierce kelpie mane,
bolting over land, burning hot,
sprinting down the lochside lane.

The cliff! The cliff! It doth call
like mother to hurry home.
Shall I throw myself to a fall
headlong below…or just roam?

Feverish, the blood doth scald
and hoof betimes slips aslant.
How much more must my mind be galled
afore I may then decant?

Mind aflood with what may be
and what may not be, alas,
it runs so wild, wind-mad kelpie—
I know not when this shall pass.

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