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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