Scottish Soil

They brought me
Seven handfuls of soil in seven bags
And a blindfold. “Now braggart,
Prove your boast and
Show us which is the earth that bore you.”
And they paled when I
Murmured “Scotland” and was
Right. I was silent
When they asked me “how the hell”, for
The mad-house was never my
Ambition. How could I explain that
My fingers had found the
Blood of my fathers between
The gritty grains, or that
It had moved like
A hot tongue against my palm
And whispered “coward” to my
Hand?