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December Sun
John Aitkenhead

Click here to listen to this in Real Audio read by Peter D Wright

Pale gowd the stibble
Gowd the stack yaird.
Blue the lift and clear
The flood watter i the field.

Green daurk green the holly glints an weet.
White the snaw-drift skinkles yet
Bidin deep aneath the beech hedge reid,
Reid the tile drains on the brae face.

Promise o warmth or memory fond
Simmer ahint or Spring ayont
Kenna the black cattle on the whinny knowes
Or the patient kye
I the deep shiny glaur by the gate.

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