ABSTRACT
My grandmother is like a Scottish pine Tall straight-backed proud and plentiful A fine head of hair, greying now Tied up in a loose bun Her face is ploughed land Her eyes shine rough as amethysts She wears a plaid shawl Of our clan with the zeal of an Amazon She is one of those women Burnt in her croft rather than moved off the land She comes from them, her snake's skin She speaks Gaelic mostly, English only When she has to, then it's blasphemy My grandmother sits by the fire and swears There'll be no Darkie baby in this house My grandmother is a Scottish pine Tall straight-backed proud and plentiful Her hair tied with pins in a ball of steel wool Her face is tight as ice And her eyes are amethysts.
