.
Skye,
The isle of mists and magic
Steeped in legend, where
Time,
Stands like a pillar, almost tangible
But not quite.
Perhaps the true Inaccessible Pinnacle.

Dreams,
Of many, formed far away
Lay shattered on the steep
Rocks,
Unforgiving as the cruel sea that
Pounds the shore.
As it has for centuries past and years to come.

Failed,
Peak-baggers retreat, beaten.
Not the first Pretenders
Hope
Has lured across the waves of promise
From afar,
Only to dash their dreams like small boats on the rocks.

Yet,
Through all his the island stands
Serenely beautiful,
Unmoved
By the consequences of men who come,
Brave but feeble,
Absorbed by mists of time which haunt this magic isle