Get Rid Of The Advertisements

Flight From Falkirk
Linlithgow Palace roofless remains
at the top of a tiny wee hill,
to the south is St. Michael's, nearby lies the loch,
all remain yet, and probably will.

The History of Falkirk is royally steeped
from Bannockburn, right through the ages.
Bonnie Prince Charlie, Mary and James...
the list goes for pages and pages.

The wheel, raising barges from level to level,
a marvel of modern design.
And though canal trade is long since defunct,
they boast loud of their wheel, 'Aye, it's fine.'

On a chill leap year day, many light years away,
in the shadow of Linlithgow Hall,
a lovely Scots lassie gave birth to a bairn
who was loved as the thistle grew tall.

Now, half of the globe away, Helen has lived,
surrounded by wattle, not heather.
Her life is devoted to serving the Lord,
and she'll do it, whatever the weather.

It's no real loss to miss birthdays, my mate,
and, while I get the three in between,
now aged sixty two, I am younger than you
but you've only just made seventeen!

May your day, my dear Helen, be joyful.
May it find you with pink in your cheek.
Be blessed, dear friend, with all good things
'Lang may yer lung reek!'

For Helen Pallett
Born 29th February, 1940

By cherryk

© 2018 cherryk (All rights reserved)


Read more poems by  cherryk
Send this poem to a friend
Read viewers comment(s)

The Starlite Cafe Discussion Board | Home

Back to Previous Page