Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Can your history be about me?

By the Broch, outside Keiss, there stands a memorial.
Without words it recalls work past about past,
Tells the tale of one gentleman amateur's fascinating fascination.

a story more explicitly told up the road in an old school,
In a series of snippets of pleading letters.
One side of a conversation divorced from response.

He had his people dig,  and others build,  each time, 
a memorial to amateur archaeological endeavour,  his endeavour, 
writing large the human frailty that seeks permanence in face of death.

He seems to have actually done a fairly sensitive job for his time and training,
But I can't help but wish I had the money to throw up a permanent memorial every time I think I've done something worthwhile...

A Scottish way of putting it.

The manny, in front of a room full of folk,
Told us that "the sun didn't not shine"
And it struck me Scottish in a way.

His point was made,  it came across With a great
clarity that betrayed more than what
He was maybe trying to tell us.

It didn't not shine, like he had expected,
Like we are raised to expect that things
Gang aft aglay whenever we hope.

But it didn't not shine, and baldy heads burnt,
And maybe it won't not shine on us
So remember your factor 40,
and remember to hope.