Warriston Graveyard
I traipse, idly,
With the same pitter-patter mind
As the marsh tits scavenging for scraps
At the top of Leith walk,
Rambling down Broughton Street,
and East Claremont Street,
and St. Marks Path, over the water,
Thinking of the great stone bridge
And where you drink the waters
To stave off the scythe;
Death-schlepping myself
Down Warriston road,
Accompanied by the sound of screeching gulls.
And here, by Crow Bridge,
Her red shoes and frame of purple stone
Guarding the twilight,
Here, I like to walk.
It is peaceful, after all,
Here among the dead.
And those who come to mourn,
Show their rent hearts
At their openmost in sight.
And here,
I once saw the face of God,
Split into sherds,
Who left a portion of himself
To watch over his mother,
She, who died of grief.
