Sign up to our newsletter
He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
He swears on his mother's life he wasn't there.
And if he was there
he swears on his mother's life it wasn't him.
And if it was him
Forest could keep secretsForest could keep secrets
Little toad little toad mind yourselfmind yourself let me plant my cornplant my corn to feed my horsefeed my horse to run my race – the sea is full of more than I know
The living room remembers Gran dancing to Count Bessie.The kitchen can still hear my aunts fighting on Christmas Day.The hall is worried about the loose banister.
Spices and gold once cast a spellOn bearded men in caravels.
New World New World cried historyOld World Old World sighed every tree.
I’ve got the Teach-them-in-the-morning-Playground-duty-Teach-them-in-the-afternoon blues.My head’s like a drum;My feet, cold and sore.I’m feeling so glum;
In the beginning was the wordand the word is ours:
the names of places,the names of flowers,the name of names,words are ours.