Tuesday, November 05, 2013

Sea Buckthorn

Sauté an' cruel winds tae shear it, [salt]
Nichts o' haar an' rain - [nights of cold mist]
Ye micht think the sallow buckthorn [might]
Ne'er a hairst could hain; [never a harvest could harbour]
But amang the sea-bleached branches [among]
Ashen-grey as pain,
Thornset orange berries cluster
Flamin', beauty-fain.

Daith an' dule will stab ye surely, [death and dolour / grief]
Be ye man or wife,
Mony trauchles an' mischances [many struggles / troubles]
In ilk weird are rife; [in everyone's fate]
Bide the storm ye canna hinder,[cannot]
Mindin' through the strife, [remembering]
Hoo the luntin' lowe o' beauty [how the blazing fire of beauty]
Lichts the grey o' life. [lights]

Helen Cruickshank

Copyright is held by A C Hunter, Ashgrove House, Loanhead, Midlothian, Scotland EH20 9NG
http://herbology-101.blogspot.co.uk/2010/11/weekend-rambles.html Photo at North Berwick golf club, Scotland.


Anonymous Sara Dodd said...

Hi John,

Lovely poem - thank you! The sea buckthorn was prolific this year and still adorns the edges of the sand dunes along this coast. I made some sea buckthorn gin - but it's too bitter to drink. However it led me to a patch of beautiful wild roses and so concocted a lovely syrup.I have started a new blog on the seaweeds I find around NB if you want more images of this coastline www.tangandware.com


3:59 pm  
Anonymous Winifred said...

Superb photo of the buckthorn, John. Dick's mother did typing for Helen Cruickshank in her later years. We took the pair of them for a drive once, 1969 I think.

11:05 am  

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