Heather

BELL HEATHER by Norman MacCaig

People make songs about your big cousin

Extravagantly sprawled over mountain after mountain.

They tear him up and he goes off to England

On the bumpers of cars, on shiny radiators.

But you're more beautiful and you blossom first,

In square feet and raggedy circles.

Your blue travels a hundred yards

That are a main road for bees.

If I were an adder, I'd choose you

For my royal palace. My sliding tongue

Would savour the thin scent

Of your boudoirs and banqueting halls.

A modest immodesty is a good thing,

Little blaze of blue on a rock face.

I'll try it myself. Will the bees come,

The wild bees with their white noses?