to a listener . . .

Address to the Unco' Concerned . . . or the overly interested and rigidly re-assuring


Your gift is growth ~ a blood red rose,                It is the listener in ourselves,

          that bleeds into our ears,                                          the body's music, bare, 

so, gently, with a cultured nose,                           that sings of spacious sub-atomic

          be wary                                                                       wells and clear infinite springs

          o' yer ain fears and foibles,                          of understanding,       

          man or mouse,                                              not as we may think, for

I welcome clean attention,                                     that is aye beyond our grasping, no     

though dinnae 'magine that my house                              a common sense beneath

          will suffer lang yer watchin',                                      our thirst

if you see nothin' o' yersel,                                     we may tak' a cup and drink from.             

          while gazin' at another,                                 So friend take heed                                    

you'll nae be any use tae me,                                of how you form the very definition

          whoever,                                                                      of such a term as friendship,

          sister, brother.                                                 I urge some room in yer description.

                                                                                    Respect a healthy dis-interest in

No scientist or soldier,                                             whatever may be brewing

            priest or politician,                                         mind yer business, keep yer counsel

            no guru, guide or teacher                            an' you'll stop yer heed fae stewing

can hope to share

            a vision, of a future                                       Still, you'll aye be welcome,

            formed in lead.                                                            'roon ma hoose   

Rigid.                                                                                        wi' a' yer force sae gentle, if 

           Drowning in opinion.                                      for some small simple time

We all stake empty claims                                        ye loose ~ what binds yer look

           to wear                                                                                                 sae mental.

           the uniform of freedom.                                  if not . . . there's the door.