Wee scaf Andy, laments from his council flat windae, in a bleak night grey with rain, in Glasgow:
I listenin through the pissin of the rain
To hear if my Love’s singing out my name
I hope and hold my finger to lip as if to shush
But all I hears the bleating of a wean…
It’s me, it’s me: alone and lonely
crying tae maself again…
Note from a simpleton:
The Sky is up! The ground is down!
Everything else is in between, that’s all,
just in between…