Daring, dragon skinned painter of poets,
does your work weigh heavy on your old heart?
Does Glasgow reflect in you, the ugliness,
beauty, passion, and apathy you see in her?
Has hell swallowed us, deep down the gullet?
Did it spit us back out for being too foul?
Is this city too pitiful? Too proud?
The city of the future need sutures;
the people are tearing each other at the limbs.
Hate’s been brewing like a storm over the hills,
and’s about to come whip us into a frenzy.
Whatever time you have left, is there time left for us?
Can you hold up your unflattering mirror once more?