Geal nae mair

We’ll geal nae mair, oor warmth denied;
your sham o justice fades as the nicht
you dern’t us in gaes ower.

You maun ging back till’t noo an bide alane,
the gloamin’s yours again as oor ice melts.

© BH, 2024

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My friend and fellow poet, Fin Hall, posted an image of melting ice. I spotted what seemed to be a union jack shape faded into the dark background.

I couldn't resist a few lines. This minor rant is a snook cocked at the distant and ever more restrictive Westminster arrangement. 

Of course, I've just finished Shona MacLean's novel, The Bookseller of Inverness, set in the aftermath of Culloden… Nuff said…