Song of the Pebble

Song of the Pebble

(after George Mackay Brown)

Said pebble to black tulip:

‘Whirl until you’re dark tatters, then die’.

Said pebble to owl: ‘A chipped cry, a feathered face.

Soon. Soon. Soon.’

The pebble spoke to a man drilling a hole in a wall.

‘Tea; breakfast cob. Tonight, draughts of ale; a long sleep’.

Sang pebble to moon:

‘Flash, old lamp I wear after rain, teeming neutrals of first light’,

Said pebble to snowflake:

‘Don’t melt, we’re for the pub, remember, stay cold’.

Pebble in watch, time

in my hand, palmed, cheap strap, throb, curls upon silence.

3 thoughts on “Song of the Pebble

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