Poetry Map of Scotland, poem no 289

Argyll November

 

The creel boat races before the whitecaps
The wren clings to the skeleton bough
The stars gone from the skies rammed black
Tonight we hear an older world growl
 
The cattle are come down off the high ground
The paths scoured bare by stiff leaves
The wind hammers through hard from Ireland
Tonight we may know little ease
 
The broad gusts are outrun by the rainclouds
The waves dissolve the sea to ragged foam
The loch washes up over the shore roads
Tonight we stand together alone
 
The forked coasts of the unflinching margin
The season remorseless in relentless change
The time for respite in safe harbour
Tonight we are at the end of our range
 
The haven reached and lone wreck overcome
The shelter shared from the gales and rain
That older world tells us through the trees and stones
Tonight we must put the stars back again.
 
Peter Russell

 

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