Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month
Hath borrowed Zephyr’s voice, and gazed upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor flower!
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
a thread of light
MacKerral, that was one hard winter.
Your father died on the moor road,
his bag of meal buried under snows.
Death relieved him of his load.
Before the fields have finished,
Before the Christmas tree,
Wonder upon wonder
Will arrive to me!
When you took the autumn to London
/ And left me to burrow into winter
/ I said they could pack up Strathconon
/ Box up…
The night is darkening round me,
/ The wild winds coldly blow;
/ But a tyrant spell has bound me,
/ And I cannot, cannot go.
/
/ The…
the light comes back
the light always comes back
Skint, baw ragged, poackets ful eh ma
/ fingers, cannae afford tae burn toast an
/ it’s November. Christmas is close. Av been
/ away bit…
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited
The old lady struggles, footsteps careful, leaving shuffle marks in the snow.
/ No shopping bag, so maybe it’s church, and maybe…
On the hillside where they come to cut trees
/ To keep warm through overcast winter days
/ He saw a stone on a…
