Gillie Mhor, a seadog, twa wiks deid,
Wisna mindin i skrach o gulls an the heave o the deep
Nor profit an loss.
The doundraig neth I faem
Chawed his banes clean. An he rose an fell
Past aa his ages an his growin
As he sweelt roon Corryvreckan.
Billy or Tim,
Ye aa caa the wheel an see fit wye the win blaws,
Think on the Gillie Mhor, aince braw an as streetched as thee.
© BH, 2016
Another fragment of a longer work. Nearly time to reveal it, I suppose. In the meantime, try to guess it’s antecedent.
If you’ve read Iain M Banks then there’s a clue in two of his works.
Nuff said.
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