The Craggy Heron
by: Munro, Mary
Steen-still he stauns, grey fisher o Dee,
Aa on his leen.
His neb like a spear, his een coal-bricht,
Waitin an watchin a troot neth a steen.
The dart o a fish, then a lichtnin thrust,
Syne a troot is spiked on his beak.
Fyles, he dauchles in vain for his silver maet,
An unfurls his great wings, fresh prey tae seek.
Primeval silence follows his flicht,
As he flaps muckle wings on his wey.
Lang-stilted legs streak oot far ahin,
As he glides, like a galleon, by.
A steel grey shadda fae the Auld Age,
Slowly he hugs the lang curve o the Dee.
A bird o Pre-History, fae grey mists o Time,
Gars ye breath-haud, jist watchin him flee.
This auld grey man o the ripples an steens,
By the waaters, ekes oot an allotted span.
Nae fechtin, or fleerichin or fussin aboot.
Mankind, look tae his weys gin ye can!