I keep checking if otley manor is aflame - again -
under attack from hordes of marauding scots
yet the sunset appears just like any other
but then nichola the bruce will burn the scots
more - and perhaps before - she burns us -
for that is the history of scotland writ small -
still I'm sure there is a general monck
to rise from the civil war predicted
- all these covenants in stone don't help -
by the pamphleteers and firebranding
though the T&A has not reported gun pits
being dug on queensbury heights
for slobodan fairfax's men to punish
the supposedly besieged of the mannigham strip
in fact - as I wandered to the scout hut
- how english is that - to make my mark -
I stopped along the way to notice
the white flowers on nettles -
the red berries of holly and brown leaves
of last years ivy - and though there were clouds -
they were not storm clouds - nor indicators
of rain - or even who might reign -
but the commonplace white skittering sort
that pass briefly and produce silver linings
The Blue Book
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