The nicht a the pictoors,
a lichtsome lassie
comed sashayin doon
the pass an hunkered
forenent me.
Ah wiz blinkit
an naur aboots
drappit ma bevie.
Her rush o hair,
theek an lang –
aw glaizie
an gowden
wiz cascadin
ower airm rests,
spewin oot the fluir
mair like a Lammas spate
floddin the locus
wi waw efter waw,
o swawin yella.
Swirly locks
strintled wi kames,
jewelled peens
glintin in the licht
an peerie flouers
daikitin ivery kink,
mebbe daises an siclike
haud in wi diamante clips.
The wee gaudie
needit twa seats,
t’ae fur hersel,
the ither anely fur
thon feck o rinaway ringlets.

Miriam Sulhunt