She smiles at me
	from beyond the eastern sea-shore.
Flashing jewelled eyes,
	she hoists her skirts so high.
Nouvelle cuisine or an oyster bar --
	it's really up to her.
I'll write every cheque she brings to me.
She shoots on sight --
	it's her European Legacy.
Round the castle walls --
	about the Highlands and the Islands
	the faint reminders stand.
Visitors who took a hand
	a thousand years ago, or so --
	stranded high and dry by tides --
	washed up a new identity.
The channel's wide --
	but it's their European legacy.
I strain my eyes
	against the southern light advancing.
On whiter cliffs I'm high.
The sea birds roll and tumble as they fly.
I hear distant mainland music echo
	in my island ears.
My feet begin to move instinctively
	to the warmer beat of my European
Legacy.  |