A Westray Prayer Poem by John Glenday
A Westray Prayer
i.m. Mike and Barbara Heasman
Let us now give thanks
for these salt-blown
wind-burned pastures
where outgrass and timothy
shrink from the harrow of the sea
where Scotland at long last
wearies of muttering its own name
where we may begin
to believe we have always known
what someone in his wisdom
must have meant
when he gave us everything
and told us nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 7:59:43 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
