Give me maps and a compass, some old bones,

A bag full of shells, beach washed pebbles, dried

Seaweed, a clear stretch of water, a sunny day and a view

Of the Bass Rock; it’s okay, you can sleep off the night

Shift, while I plan the journey, there’s no rush,

I’ll no’ be far away.

 

Even now I think of you every day.

There will come a time when I won’t. Maybe later,

When dusk settles over the Firth o’ Forth, I won’t hear you

Saying, ‘Think we could swim tae Fife fae here?’

‘Aye,’ I always said,

Though we never did,

But that was okay.