Yann
Eyes, baby blue as northern skies,
Speaking out new-born from ancient wisdom
Into a tired world long weary of war,
Born at the long summer days
Where night is yet ever day,
Day is a new night,
A midnight child of the slow-dying darkness
Lit by the light of nigh-arctic day,
Seemingly endless,
Yet mortal as his immortality: boundless.
The fifth child of a fourth and third,
Bred of their native haunts of long-fled ancestry,
Fore-fathers and -mothers bound eternally in
One child,
New, yet ageless,
A soul wrapped in unity with seed spirit of
Gael, Viking, Frank, Angle and Norman.
The broad, bright light of humanity’s history
Focussed in a nascent face;
Curious.
A god-spun vestment of flesh
Breathing the first breath,
Sucking in the Pentland air,
Filling lungs with the cry of seabirds,
Shouts of fishermen,
Crashing breakers on sheer cliffs,
Washing clean black rocks of basalt,
Glistening waves over, and over,
Past bones of perished neighbours
Listening closely to hear his first cry,
Joining their yet-living unison.