She dug a marble from the ground,
And laid it back to mark the grave.
Some lives were never meant to be:
The kitten barely breathed at all.
The ice of Leith, the summer breeze,
The spring and autumn Pentland rains,
The poems spoken through the snow,
The poems of the cobbled roads.
We lived in books and Richter prints,
We breathed the northern lights of earth,
Yet on the edge of perfect voice
The silence and the shadows fell.
I walked along the city streets,
Alone, alive in memory’s words.
Edinburgh, where I listened to Always Something There To Remind Me, recorded by Sandie Shaw.