For Alasdair - by
Standan here on a fogg-yirdit stane,
/ drappan the bricht flees on the broun spate,
/ I’m thinkan o ye, liggan thonder…
Standan here on a fogg-yirdit stane,
/ drappan the bricht flees on the broun spate,
/ I’m thinkan o ye, liggan thonder…
Maybe love is a walk to astonishment.
/ Or a ship stranded on the shore of oblivion.
/ The infinity in the atom,
/ the treasures…