Stone

Best night of the year
for a wee scry,
and the Grand
can hang itself in knickers
and the future's dark as an underbelly
and a pig's ear-hair o
Cailleach, mother of all, boar-
tusk and bear-shin
tooth your consort,
ground yourself.
Take up the keek-stane, flush
a blood-bowl; fill it widder-
shins with what the Book
chokes up; there's
a good little sending, here's
the first-footer
o the New Year
o Samuel, dark-
haired youngblood bearer
of peat; we'll get you yet.


Happy Devil's Night! ( ;