Walking through the barrows market, the hawkers shout out three for a fiver, little Glasgow women clutching children looking for a bargain. Fish and chips are eaten and people go through the stalls of antiques, German helmets and medals of foreign fields of battle, such moments of life, country music is played on a record player full blast. Tourists barter with the stall holder trying to buy an old mantelpiece clock, hobos drinking cheap wine argue with themselves, and songs of the Celtic fill the air. People eat whelks from the stall and the candy floss man hands out the sticky treat to a crying child who suddenly is silent. Memories of my days spent here are etched in my mind, sunny days of my youth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem