Once out of nature
I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing
(Sailing to Byzantium by W. B. Yeats)

For masel A wuidnae want tae be
onie jewelt thing,
but berries on the muir
aiten bi birds an snails.

Or pickt bi a wumman
fillin her basket, takin whit she needs
for jam, chyngin ma form,
ladlin me intae a jaur
an hainin me in the daurk

until wi passin time
a bodie wuid arrive
an rummage aboot the hoose,
siftin thru the junk
for – whae kens? – traisur,
comin upon jaurs o daurkest reid

still wi the taste o the fruit
that growed on the muir
an the sun an the rain an the moul
that made me.

Donald Adamson