Sunday, 2 January 2011

I took a walk in Scotland

I took a walk in Scotland,
in a glen with a ruined croft,
where high on the wind a curlew’s song
cried, "now how are your brothers?
where have they gone?"

I took a walk in Scotland,
out in the shadows on a rainy beach,
out to where the cutter stranded,
and the dark Atlantic rolled
a weary wave upon the sand.

I took a walk to escape
images of death and tears on the radio,
but what was behind was also in front.
What should have been buildings,
are not even boulders,
but dust.
What should have been lives,
are not even bodies,
but parts.
What should have?
What might have?
What will?
I took a walk in Scotland,
And found myself out in the world.

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