Norman Maccaig WALKING TO INVERUPLAN
Glowing with answers in the aromatic dark,
I walk, so wise,
Under the final problem of lit skies.
I reach the bridge, where the road turns north to Stoer,
And there perch me
Under the final problem of a tree.
I'm in my Li Po mood. I've half a mind
To sit and drink
Until the moon, that's just arisen, should sink.
The whisky's good, it constellates. How wise
Can a man be,
I think, inside that final problem, me
If you are short of answers, I've got them all
As clear as day...
I blink at the moon and put the bottle away
And then walk on(for there are miles to go
And friends to meet)
Above the final problem of my feet.
I walk, so wise,
Under the final problem of lit skies.
I reach the bridge, where the road turns north to Stoer,
And there perch me
Under the final problem of a tree.
I'm in my Li Po mood. I've half a mind
To sit and drink
Until the moon, that's just arisen, should sink.
The whisky's good, it constellates. How wise
Can a man be,
I think, inside that final problem, me
If you are short of answers, I've got them all
As clear as day...
I blink at the moon and put the bottle away
And then walk on(for there are miles to go
And friends to meet)
Above the final problem of my feet.