Poetry Map of Scotland, poem no 282

Address to Beecraigs
Beecraigs,yer wuids are deep an thick
Tho' somehou lackin Nature's lick.
Laid oot sae neat as brick on brick
They'd mak Macbeth
Prepare fir daith
Thae schiltrons like a witch's trick.
Yet,yer grim ranks o conifers
Tak on the west wun's jinglin spurs
An bield the life that blinks an stirs,
That steys alert,
Deep in yer hert,
Rowed in its feathers,scales an furs.
Top o the rig,that's whaur ye bide
Surveyin West Lothian wi pride...
Ye're whaur its last rid squirrels hide...
Oor bairns are nourished
Bi you,Great Forest
Hie- water mairk o Nature's tide
But noo alas ye'll hae tae greet
As,perchin shoogly on yer seat
Ye gove taewart yer ain defeat...
Nae langer chief
O Twig an Leaf,
Main trustee o ilk wuidlan treat...
Look, ah'm no bein smert,uncouth,
Jist tak a wee glence tae the Sooth,
Jaloose whit maks me shape ma mooth --
See Caledon
At last reborn
Bein coaxed back tae its saicont youth!
It's WITCHCRAIG tunes ma wuidlan flute;
There monie the youthfu twistin root
Pumps tea an toast tae ilk new shoot,
Present synopses
O glades an copses
Framin the forest's future fruit...
O aik an holly,alder,rowan,
An siller birks aw sweetly growin
Makkin thon west wun wonner hou an
Auld bit brae
Cin seize the day
An gie it sic new life tae chow on.
Pagoda first,then here's the brae,
`A puckle steep,pal,'some micht say
But them that's pechin shuid delay
Fir they'll be nursed
Wi Simmer's hairst
O mountain berries ,sherp an blae.
An while they're munchin, let their een
Look ower the dales,aince submarine
Noo kirtled in ilk shade o green
Then rest their gaze
Upon the braes
O Arran( gin their sicht's that keen!)
Noo tae the rig whaur kestrels spree
Up frae the whummelt-ower beech tree
(Bairns sclim here -- it's compulsory)
Then nae mair stops
Until the top's
Museum o Geology!
Noo Big Bee,spare yer peengie sneer
Neither lament wi dreepin tear
Nor droon yer angst in peaty beer:
Swallie yer scunner
An wish fir a hunner
Witchcraigs in Scotland year upon year!.
Davie Cunningham

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