Wha kens gin ye are
James the Fowert?
when chance mention can smore yer een wi pain:
jeelin sair while memories o thon man lang deid
swirl tae a wreath.
Ye're chained tae the past, tae him wha kent his daith,
nae rust but bluid oan this penance iron,
ilka link as strang as his haud oan ye
an his ain guilt fur his faither's affgaun.
Aye, the fey falcon has ye in his cleek,
bit dae ye fly wi him
or as him:
feelin thae talons or the maijestie o flicht?
an Today's sun lifts the cranreuch frae ye,
Ah can see it melt tae a flim whaur Jamie still looms,
then saft thaw o yer tears.
Crack burns aff onie lingerin haar,
yet Ah ken yin wird
cud ca' the cairry back.