From this day's embers new suns will return

Running rest-day ...

... still trying to keep the 'Scottish poetry theme' going; and here's a poem from Ayrshire-born, William Neill.

I've blipped from the 1992 pictured collection before - but here's an appropriate verse, given the proximity of the shortest day of the year:


WINTER SOLSTICE

The north wind whispers to the iron frost.
Bare hawthorn trees upon the long hill ridge
reach out black arms towards the scarlet west,
where our last sun dies under that bleak edge.

Knowing or not, let all the yule fires burn.
If fear or joy has made our voices rough,
from this day's embers new suns will return
to high meridian if we sing enough.