Queensferry

It’s exactly the right colour. It’s strange how a mud

Red works so well on the scale of titans and giants.

Placed against the blossoming monochrome flood

Of a Scotch June sky it hums softy to itself whilst

Wild shouts of wind encircle it, meaning no good,

Remembering with relish how it had laid low

A predecessor; but not here, where the mud

Red stalks are planted surely, reaching deep.