From Scotland’s purple mountains
Come blessings great and small,
Like whiskey, haggis, porridge,
Dundee cake, shortbread and all.
But of mighty Scotia’s bounty
The best of all to me
Is a wee round Highland oatcake,
Dunked in my English tea!
For Liz and Roddie
Orion Shivers
Orion shivers in the winter night
But keeps his lonely vigil. I watch too
And wait for morning and the healing light.
20 February 1992
The year is still raw
In spite of the shoots
And the thin sunshine.
The cows lie behind
Brown bramble hedges,
Safe from the sharp wind.
On his daily walk
My son turns apple
Red and chubby hands
Turn purple, scorning gloves.
Forefinger and thumb
Point to sky and birds
And dogged walkers.
Everything receives
Mention in his list
Many times over,
In case his mother.
Both ears well muffed,
Should fail to listen.
7th March 1971
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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