If I carved a stone for him
It would be in the rosy
The memories evoke
Warmth and ruggedness; brow
Crumpled, flesh pinched by salt wind.
A canny man - yet one
He left that hulk, the Muckle Kirk, [big church]
To go to Jesus.
Perhaps ower canny - gentle, [over cautious]
So that death came
Of a broken heart.
Yet the stone stands, something
In time's mist; remember
This recalls my grandfather who I can only vaguely remember. He lived in Peterhead and spoke broad Scots. You can't exactly translate Scots to English.