I am impatient
I have no time for this poetry dressed up as art
Yet I know for sure it is just a time thing
That with a clearer head I would absorb it fully
I would even turn to talk of love
Though I have never yet been able to talk of love
As finely as that fair old Mr Robin Robertson
I am impatient
I have no time for sitting and waiting
Yet I know for sure that once on board
The ferry time will pass even more slowly
That only then will I be able to look back
On that idyllic cottage by the stream
Somewhere on the way to Ullapool
