Elgin City

Elgin City

Cobbled lanes whisper through ancient stone,
Where the River Lossie glints in muted tone,
Morning mist rolls o’er the cathedral spire,
And the town awakes to a quiet fire.

Shops line the High Street with tartan‑warmth,
The scent of fresh scones drifts from the bakery’s hearth;
Children’s laughter echoes from the park,
While cyclists trace the Speyside’s dark.

Evening draws a amber hush,
Lanterns flicker, a gentle blush;
The old castle stands, a steadfast guard,
Over glens where stories are starred.

In Elgin’s heart, tradition weaves,
Through market square and autumn leaves,
A steady pulse, both proud and meek—
The soul of Moray, distinct and unique.