"Tell me a story," the old singer called,

tell me about the shadows of the green green grass

or something

From my trap I was so impatient

they were calling me from the blue singer

with wooden mock, tree mock they were mellowing

and devastating all the ruddy rocks I had dove off and worshipped

and returned to, making a wind out of

them, drowning my feet.

Heart's tooth I said humbly

the monastery orange

sings at the foot of the stairs

And they said you oaken stair-

case come out.

Whether I wood not

Whether I wood

oh that day, that day

I was not in the mood

Nothi g came rihgt

Nothing I was black tense, completely in the mood,

I passed water and it did no good to me

I loved all stone romantically

I carried lots of wood

I crusted over black, I imagined green death,

and all the wood was yellow and I rained

I COUNTED SHEEP.

And in that sleep

and in that sleep this too there is a dolphin

it came between my legs with back of grass

tense gray humorous skin

sat under my thighs like a sense

and I knew it myst be blue not red atall.

Blue single naïve

simply pulling in

Oh I hated each tread and each riser

Never hated anything so much.

Each blue trea. Each red riser. Each lichen-licking yellow metafour

Up up up up

nwod nwod nwod nwoD

Each rustling lickeling my crotch and each moth after all those sheep

First times are easy, a grand silver sadness loosens the mane, but

last times cover the fingers with soft new down, stretch us then

cup us in and Empty! Empty! Just in time to say goodbye

Make things of such beauty you make all you have,

bursting light, like a sinew of beauty

stretching to burst, like the lamp

of a culprit that sleeps

in the night, a dark lantern that eats, like a cow

coming home.

From The Encyclopedia of Scotland