A smoor o paets: a simmer foo
ta hent fae timeless broos at,
haddin der dark fire, cuppit
fair Lungawater. I da sun
da paety loch glansed
secret an boddomless.
Jöst oot a reck, a tize
o water-lilies flotit,
luscious an exotic,
intae a Monet.

Da day, i da toon,
du skypit up ta me,
alive ta ivery element;
open on a loch o trust.
Afore I gud, du closed
petal airms aroond me.
A flash o Eden, surely,
or a braeth o Lungawater;
a charm fornenst da grummel
steered up itae dis fragile wirld.

‘Whatsoever things are lovely….think on these things.'
Philippians 4, 8