The Licht o Love

“A fleerich o moosies' backs are the knowes o Mar,
Fleein the raven's wing o Lochnagar.”

"Oh, bit yer wrang; it's the airm o the muckle Ben,
The shepherd o hind an hare, takkin care o its ain."

"The mist faas grey, on the hingin heid o Gairn,
The win's as wae as the greet o a grievin bairn."

"Yon's bit the croon that the gloamin gies the nicht;
A gangrel, cooryin doon, wi'ts plaid grippit ticht."

"The aik, wi its torn nails, wad teir the lift ...
Feart am I i' the wid an I fain wad shift."

"Bide still! Bide still!
It's nocht bit the antlered stag, wha means nae ill."

"At ilkie turn there's derk an the chunnerin cauld;
A hoodie's hump is the burn, an the birk hings bauld ..."

"Oh, bit the drift is the breist o a snaw-fite dove,
Fur aathing's braw fin it's seen wi the licht o love."


Glen Gairn from Gairnshiel

A bummer, pollen-pugglit wi delicht,
I winged amang the heather o Glen Gairn:
A life ago, fin as the warld wis new,
Sae short a flicht, the dauchlin o a bairn!

The posie held a sting; I didna ken,
For wint o its perfume, that I wad dwine.
I plundered as the hinney frae its hairt;
Lang-pairtit noo, Glen Gairn plunders mine.