Edinburgh wears mist
Like a diamond necklace
A silver tiara
A white-gold engagement ring…
Edinburgh mist –
No city could wear it so well
Such graceful elegance –
The sea settling like a shawl.
Not here the oppressive shroud
Wrapped around London’s East End,
Smothering the living
Rather than respecting the dead.
Here the wind doesn’t howl
Or cry or moan –
But rushes up to greet you
In a big, friendly, yet cold, hug,
Roughly caressing your face
Absent-mindedly, yet ever affectionately
Messing up your hair…
Here the rain does not drown you
But washes you clean –
It doesn’t mean
To slap you in the face –
Aiming more for the wet, sloppy kisses
Your grandmother used to give.
The weather is Edinburgh’s welcome.
Not as the warmth of the home-fires burning,
Not with nostalgia of freshly baked bread –
But the damp cold that settles in your bones
Is what lets you belong.
Some are sent scuttling to warmer climes
But for others it freezes their hearts
Keeping them locked in the granite forever.