I have not spread my toes on the banks of Loch Lomond,
nor hearkened the call of the Northern shore, drowning in its boundary with the kelpies.

I have stepped on blue suede shoes
and been dragged in to selfies.

I've never tasted a pastry en français
perusing Parisian cabarets
never took a walk with la Seine by my side, smoking cigarettes in the hazy moonlight.

I have seen dolphins spend summer nights in the Tay, laughing along the Ferry Esplanade.

I have not seen New York scrape the sky
I have seen a lot of people scrape by
I have not witnessed a single display
compare with a simple act of the heart.

I haven't reached the end of my list
I have made a start.

the butterfly
flitting vivid in the garden
kissing the prettiest flowers with abandon

and the watchful eyes
waiting on high
to gobble it up at random

the slinky tail
prowling the grass
dancing with light
between shadows it cast

steps with intention
alive in the night
not a single tomorrow in sight

always down
as if he fell from the sky
the tragic clown with the funniest life
the perfect comedy in time

he always frowns, I tell no lie
sticks silver needles in his eye

looking on the bright side
every cloud's a lining

all he ever wanted
was the planets to align
across the vast expanse of time
he spent wishing for a diamond

eyes on the sky when
groundwork's how to find them

could have been mining
instead he was whining
sour grapes are to his taste
he's always fine dining

and when it's finally his time
I believe his final sigh
will be released
with sweet relief
at not needing to try