FOR A LIMITED TIME

Oh sibling land, whose harsh caress
tousles my hair and speeds my heart –
whose hills and gales I love no less
than Lowland through which the wee burns dart.

Long-shed blood still pumps through the land,
lubricating buried claymores,
seeping resentment which has spanned
centuries of unsettled scores.

Yet now, though Sassanach abound,
highlands need choke on no more bones –
for Twickenham and Old Firm grounds impound
the feudal screams and moans…

And strangling blue of Campbell kilt
steal breath from no more children wilt.