Sheets of rusted corrugated iron
clatter in the gusts against its walls—
the black house mossed with memories of childhood.
It passed like sunset blushed across the kyles.
...
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This morning and each morning since she married
she's borne the water-buckets from the burn
to wash away the woad of savage living
expecting neither respite nor return.
Just beautiful O Canadien
Such beaches I too have seen...many rags now from one time's richness
some day we may meet
at the those shores
from some river may be
stay friendly
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This morning and each morning since she married she's borne the water-buckets from the burn to wash away the woad of savage living expecting neither respite nor return. Just beautiful O Canadien Such beaches I too have seen...many rags now from one time's richness some day we may meet at the those shores from some river may be stay friendly
Thnanks, Poet Poet. A pleasure to know you connected with this. John