Like a gaudy hostess the cherry greets me,
a pink floral floosie
her arms wide in greeting,
then waves me on.
Daisies and forget-me-nots like cheering crowds welcome me
lining the well worn path up the drumlin.
The dykes that keep the curious cattle at bay
part up ahead to enfold the wood
and from here I can see other hilltops like this
each crowned with a brilliant blaze of beech.
But like a cat looking at a queen
I gaze over the village rooftops
to the grandeur of the distant Galloway hills.
The Merrick, Curleywee, Cairnsmore and Lammekin
all studiously ignore me.
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