Up an awa
oot wi us on the green sea machairs liftit
an we pit
past dour Garvel o the gurlin storms –
lowps on us
syne a sair blast wast bi sooth, an hard rain.
Up wi her
heid, prow fornent cauld wave-heids
stoondin an
stunnin, a slim dark lassie,
up wi her
sang an surgin forrit.
She streikit
her lee sheet ticht as steel
she streikit
her hainch til the thies o the brekkers
she streikit
her gait til the gait o the ocean
she gaed
dunt wi her gunnel gin yaw
an dunt wi
the seam o her shouther gaed she
an ryvit the
wave wi her beak at the pitch.
Come Eilean
Aoidh she raired oot joyfu
Ardlamont
haerd her prood bellin
Bi
Inchmarnock she crooned a douce air.
Oorsels
wappit in her smeik – smoorit-nane –
that stang
in oor een frae the ram-stam o her
in a spelder
o speindrift an saut spray
an nocht
cuid we hear but the pulse o her pechin.
(Owreset frae Siubhal a’ Choire, bi
George Campbell Hay)
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