A Pub in Edinburgh

Justly refreshed in Tolbooth I rest
A whisper from Furgusson I hear
Close your eyes and I’ll show you our lives…
Klip clops of hurried hooves draws near

And the Gate lores, I open the door
Night winds send shivers from head to ground
Dung filled streets and lingering whiskey
Coughing I stagger to Kirk then Hound

On to theThin Place where I will taste
Knowledge through this, the Thought of the Dead
Elusive ears, vision disappears

Justly refreshed in Tolbooth I sit
Unlikely? Yes, but this I confess
Nothing is as queer as Auld Reekie
Echoes nurture, fuse past and future
-Though only a slight portion of Strother and Tweedie

                                            And a poor Scott may be my lot

                                            But there is truth in what I tell

                                            To be born a Scot is Luxury

                                            To die a Scot, Great Legacy