(18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Winter Wreath

It's high summer in the city,
Granite buildings, silky leaves
Windows shining, here's the bus
Parting wave, not serious

Off you go down tangled ways
Always you've high octane days
Walk the tightrope, wayward son
Smile of honey, roguish one

Ah, that meeting was the last
Like a thunderclap you passed
In Death's spider web, poor fly
Why did Fate finger you to die?

In the Highlands it is winter
Here's your wreath. The holly's sharp
Evergreen, as is your memory
Thorny grief that sears the heart

by Sheena Blackhall

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