View The Brogue.
Printed in The Brogue
Edinburgh by Addie Leak
The night in town is thick and damp: no star,
No moon, no shadow seen. Just north, the Firth
Of Forth lies silent and dark, breathes the haar
As chilled waves kiss the steaming earth.
Without the lamps, I’d lose my self in grey,
Alone, perhaps, in all the city. As I walk,
The modern world begins to fade away;
The sun may rise on new-young gleaming lochs
Of yesteryear with Viking ships upon
Them, half-husked corncobs with carved curling prows,
Or clear the fog to find the Gardens gone
Again in lake. Mute Swans may float and bow,
Their beaks unpressed with symphonies to sing
As from each grasslet misty moisture drops,
And in the Royal Mile a fairy ring
Of mushrooms grows, trees replacing tartan shops.