Sometimes I write verse instead of standing by the kiln.
Verses written for a character in 'Tom Fleck'; here he speaks to his bride at their handfasting:
To His Bride
‘You are the first gleam of dawn
that swells the green linnet’s breast,
and throbs his heart with joy.
You are the sun at Noon,
that golds the barley, and pulls
the bee to the ling on the moor.
And in the evening, the friend
of my hearth side, and lover
- when the whaup falls silent.’
Terms in northern English:
Green Linnet : The Greenfinch
Ling: Heather
Whaup: The Curlew
Verses written for my 16th C historical novel ‘Tom Fleck’.
Well - they made my eyes damp anyway . . .
