Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously


They call us Picts
the Romans do
because our bodies bear the marks
the swirling symbols of the gods
in shades of blue

From Cat to Fib
we ruled the lands
our kings sat in Uerturio
on thrones of stone with lions’ heads
and iron hands

Across the sea
the traders sailed
to buy our wheat, our cloth, our chains
they brought us priests with tonsured pates
and knights ring-mailed

The Norsemen came
and stole our wives
in long boats wielding axe and sword
their swinging braids wet rust with blood
their eyes like knives

Yet still prevails
a Pictish thread
inside the Celtish Highlanders
whose hearts know Caledonia
is never dead


(c) RCGA


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