By Carol Ann Duffy
Tha gaol agam ort *
A thistle can draw blood,
so can a rose,
growing together
where the river flows, shared currency,
across a border it can never know:
where, somewhen, Rabbie Burns might swim,
or pilgrim Keats come walking
out of love for him.
Aye, here’s to you,
cousins, sisters, brothers,
in your bold, brave, brilliant land:
the thistle jags our hearts,
take these roses,
from our bloodied hands.
*I love you
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