Curmudgeon - by
He is a man for whom everyone’s a trespasser.
/ Co-existence? He doesn’t believe in it.
/ Give you the time of day? Not…
He is a man for whom everyone’s a trespasser.
/ Co-existence? He doesn’t believe in it.
/ Give you the time of day? Not…
Just before winter
we see the trees show
their true colours:
the mad yellow of chestnuts
two maples like blood sisters
the orange beech
braver than lipstick
Ye wha are fain to hae your name
/ Wrote in the bonny book of fame,
/ Let merit nae pretension claim
/ …
As I sleep my scalp labours on
/ weaving glittering strands
/ from the dead fibres of my hair.
/
/ Never so noticeable…
To provide the best experiences, we use technologies like cookies to store and/or access device information. Consenting to these technologies will allow us to process data such as browsing behaviour or unique IDs on this site. Not consenting or withdrawing consent, may adversely affect certain features and functions.
We use privacy-focused tracking technologies to help us understand and improve the experience of our visitors. We track activity, not users, but you can still object to this tracking via our cookie policy.