Tha gaol agam ort.*
A thistle can draw blood,
so can a rose,
growing together
where the river flows, shared currency,
across a border it can never know;
where, somewhen, Rabbie Burns might swim,
or pilgrim Keats come walking
out of love for him.
Aye, here's to you,
cousins, sisters, brothers,
in your brave, bold, brilliant land:
the thistle jags our hearts,
take these roses
from our bloodied hands.
*I love you
Sent from my iPad
