Mirknen haps a rummelled broch
on Houlland's knowe, rowes hit
in a twilt o lavendar: saft smored
as a Danish Hjøllund a year ago.
Da line o da prow is sib
an da soonds on da tongue, but
dis laand canna scoarn da forest,
fat byres an grit rigs o coarn.
Here hit's a tooder o hedder
an da mintiest flooers. Fae da broch
da Wastside raiks aa aroond:
Eid Voe spörs ta da nort,
bi wast, a headicraa ta Burrafirt,
ta Foula an Waas. Soothbye,
a vire o voes at Sandsoond
an Skeld - Skjáldr o da sagas.
A year is come richt roond.
I da simmir dim, sungaets,
we mark da rim o da broch
- time circles: walk da mairches
o a twalmont gien.