Oh the cold air of the Kishorn burial ground,
and the ghost's there everywhere you turn,
the cold and the damp seems to follow you down,
to the brackish waters of the Russell Burn.
The Burn, the blood, and the porcelain shard,
an aching mitt and another lesson to learn,
I numb the hand and the ghost of the churchyard,
in the brackish waters of the Russell Burn.
There's a heart as cold as the Wester Ross,
there are ties that bind like a highland fern,
there's a sullied figurine nailed to a cross,
and the brackish waters of the Russell Burn.
The ghosts leave traces of residual pain,
as the ashes scatter from a broken urn,
tainted and tarnished and never the same,
oh the brackish waters of the Russell Burn.
Very nice. I would only make one change. Take out the apostrophe in line two; it doesn't belong in the word GHOSTS. Or on second thought, maybe it does. If you meant more than one ghost, then it doesn't. But if you meant the GHOST (singular) IS THERE, then it does belong! Well written, lad!
I'd be pleased to write just one poem as good as this Perfection Thanks for sharing Have a Happy New Year: O)
Lang may yer lum reek Luscious Larry' (long may your chimney smoke)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fantastic poem. A wee bit o' perfection Lad!