Twinkle-Burn, Far Ago Star
Delphic, dark, ‘n hid you are…
All about the tanglebranch of brokentwig it rushroars, raring for the smoothstone leap – the turning, tumbling stream.
Glenmacnass leaps to the valley b’low, her sights upon the Irish Sea…
Backache from moving tables ‘n cèilidhing about for hours amongst the mini-gourds ‘n flow’rs.
Relatively cold, this breezesome morning – bracing.
We’re citizens alike, subject to rule of cracked ‘n flawed democracy!