POEM TITLE Pause
POEM
Each moment deserves tae be frozen in time,
to be photographed,
then framed,
and hung in th' howf fur a' tae see.
The beach, crammed wi' ilka villager,
ever tae set foot in Blackness on Sea,
the gulls flying overhead, becoming makeshift pillagers,
stealing oysters straecht fae th' hauns o' bairns,
practically oan a spree.
The waves fur wance still,
droplets o' foam 'n' froth,
hang in th' air until
they drap intae th' salty broth.
Th' sky stretches endlessly upward,
the clouds creep o'er th' blue up above,
the sun rays break thro' thaim unstructured.
While th' smirr blocks th' path o' a wee white dove.
Jacobites roam th' fields,
the castle in thair sights,
their weapons ur far fae concealed 'n' men prepare fur mony sleepless nights,
as yin thing thay wull ne'er dae is yield.
Men staun ootdoors buildings,
from th' village shop tae th' Lobster Pot Pub
celebrating bein' able tae spend thair shillings,
whether it be oan claes or some guid grub.
Excited thair village is growing,
and that time is movin` onward.
But, thay ken thay wull ne'er hae this moment again,
so thay cherish it afore thair time is cut,
the see th' beauty 'n' notice th' wee wren,
hatching as tis mither looks on.
Because efter a' Blackness On Sea ne'er stops.
But, it mak's fur some guid stories.
コメント