Bed time poem tonight. In the gloaming early this evening, on my way home from Glasgow, I suddenly realised that I had drunk copious quantities of coffee at The Peoples Palace cafe, but had belted off without going to the lo. As I drove, I began thinking, Ill get home, but will have to run when I get in, but then realised that if I did so I was going to be so uncomfortable as to be almost painful. Once back in Fife, I remembered a stopping place where there were some scrubby trees and bushes. With a sense of relief, I found it and stopped. Ahhhhhh. Clothing re adjusted, I saw, perched on a mossy drystane dyke, two carrion crows...and remembered... The Twa Corbies As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies makin a mane; The tane unto the ither say, Whar sall we gang and dine the-day? In ahint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new slain knight; And nane do ken that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound an his lady fair. His hound is tae the huntin gane, His hawk tae fetch the wild-fowl hame, His ladys tain anither mate, So we may mak oor dinner swate. Yell sit on his white hause-bane, And Ill pike oot his bonny blue een; Wi ae lock o his gowden hair Well theek oor nest whan it grows bare. Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sall ken whar he is gane; Oer his white banes, whan they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair
Posted on: Fri, 31 Oct 2014 23:23:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015