Lewis in Summer
A poem by Derick Thomson (translated from the Gaelic by the author)
The atmosphere clear and transaprent
as though a veil had been rent
and the Creator were sitting in full view of His people
eating potatoes and herring,
with no man to whom He can say grace.
Probably there’s no sky in the world
that makes it so easy for people
to look in on eternity;
you don’t need philosophy
where you can make do with binoculars.