Small Scottish seaside towns,
Turning inwards to face the hills;
As if embarrassed by the unholy
Juxtaposition of church, and pub,
Have ceased to charm me.
I have tired, quickly,
Of their bright cuteness.
The big church-Sunday hats
Marry unhappily with
The workless men at the street corner-
Uneasy partners in the seaside gavotte.
I am reminded, always,
When I walk the shore-edge streets,
That even the prettiest petticoats
Lose their appeal when caked with mud,