Scottish Poem by Faith St. John

When the thistles
and the storm tossed sea
are cast in that same hue
as the wet stones

and the green leaves
hold no promises
but that they will fade

Then I will walk
where the Blackface ewes
are my only companions.

For they at least must understand
who yearly watch their bleating brood removed

the loss I feel

though I have never touched your lips.