Kith and Kin…by Jessie 12/05
Thicken fog on a Scottish moor; names of past called out
McClure clan in black watch kilts; ghost that stroll the hills
The night so dark; the moon asleep;
A trek imprinted in every mind
A walk taken year by year, since the start of time
Candles lit to mark each name, and cut the congealed vale
Faces glow; in each eye a tear, as the generations kneel
Thirty years times thirty, now to present day
Kith and kin, circle round the McClure stone to pray
Every eve upon this date, the ritual of names
The list is read from first to end; then passed and read again
From the oldest man to the youngest child, the names will pass each lip
Then the McClure goblet, passed around, from which all descendants sip
Once every name is read aloud: the empty goblet turned
The sheep skin parchment tightly rolled then tucked within its sheath
Placed within the wood carved box; another year to keep
A tear is wiped, the flames extinguished; all receive a hug
Quietly, all’s disbursed; single file they leave
Nary another word is said
The long trek back, is for the clan, to reminisce and grieve
Toys get lost.
So-called "best friends" cost
much more than ere thought.
She felt gross in kilts;
too tall, like on stilts.
Rain annoys the roof.
Wishes on a hoof.
so do root beer floats
and ice cream boats.
I still wonder why...
They're too tired to cry?
Must speak eloquent,
yet not what she meant.
— The End —