There’s a petal of cherry blossom
in my tea,
There’s a louse on it rowing
towards unknown horizonts.

Standing alone in the middle of Nowhere
Alone in the middle of a vast desert
Among constantly changing, infinite dunes
Surrounded by million motes
In the middle of a current of sand

Sweet is the Saxon word, that
I poise on the tip of my tongue
Like a cooling waterdrop;
It soothes my thirst, it scorches my blood;

As the oak I’m rooted in
The sweet Scottish motherland,