I Hardly Knew Ya

Oh, Scotland, I hardly knew ya.

I barely learned the way

your tongue hefts your voice from the gut.

I did not fathom the depths

of your brown-eyed vowels,

sad as the ages

and crafty as a school boy

in his duel-striped tie.

You are all the ages you have been,

every ancestor that walked the hills before you.

In your eyes,

I was a flightless bird,

song as shrill as a newborn’s screech.

Still, I wanted to sing

with you,

to soar on the wild winds

of your song,

to read the notes on the sinews

that lined your parchment arm.

But I never could.

I crashed into the glass

plane of your present,

and, dazed, flitted off again,

lamenting, “Oh Scotland,

I hardly knew ya.”


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