She smiles at me

from beyond the eastern sea-shore.

Flashing jewelled eyes,

she hoists her skirts so high.

Nouvelle cuisine or an oyster bar --

it's really up to her.

I'll write every cheque she brings to me.

She shoots on sight --

it's her European Legacy.



Round the castle walls --

about the Highlands and the Islands

the faint reminders stand.

Visitors who took a hand

a thousand years ago, or so --

stranded high and dry by tides --

washed up a new identity.

The channel's wide --

but it's their European legacy.



I strain my eyes

against the southern light advancing.

On whiter cliffs I'm high.

The sea birds roll and tumble as they fly.

I hear distant mainland music echo

in my island ears.

My feet begin to move instinctively

to the warmer beat of my European

Legacy