Shall I walk forever by your banks,
Grey Teviot, and never understand
Your secret.

Why are you so close and quiet?
Where is the anger I have seen
Before, when you have thrown
Dead wood and pounding water at me?

I have watched you now
In joy, in deepest mourning,
In hatred and in crimson desperation.
I have strolled by you and sung
And talked to you and cried.
I have torn myself from you
And forced you from my system,
Only to crawl back
Humbled
As you beckon in the caverns of my mind.

Can it be that you have seen the world
And turned your face away
To reflect only peace and solitude.

1970