Our splendour is a manky swanky ragamuffin child,
up to her knees in mischief and a burn,
the guddled trout already slid
out of her hands into a splash of glee.
Our splendour is a thief who breaks the hive
and takes the honey there to feed the bear,
giggling at slugs
and frogs. Face smeared with brambles.
Our splendour hauls the hem of her red dress,
knickers or not, to hide her blush
in games of peekaboo –
then finds the knap delicious on her cheek.
Our splendour is a lone, unkempt magnificence
that shows her fist to squalls
blown off the Minch.
They pause to fall as snowflakes in her hair.
Copyright © John Bolland 2015
John Bolland is a novelist and poet. His work has appeared in Pushing Out the Boat, The London Magazine, Poetry Scotland and various anthologies. He recently retired to write and paint full-time.