Beaky's Blather

There’s no more I would seek from the place up above,
Than the land that I come from, in the country I love
No green and pleasant land… in the Blake tradition
it offers softness and granite, a contrasting condition

It’s always beneath me, my foundation, my floor
The place that I came from and the key to my door. 
Though I’ve travelled the world now… my hearts not gone far. 
Caledonia’s door’s open, or at worst still ajar

I’m a Scotsman from Scotland, the gem of the North, 
place of the Enlightenment’s gestation and birth. 
We’ve a soft centre, we’re liberal… in a case-hardened way. 
I prefer debate over argument, I let all have their say. 

It’s an acre of goodness in a world that seems bad
I return there quite often, have done since a lad.

I’ve struggled and worked hard… now I’ll endeavour no more

Take my old bones up north, back to Edinburgh’s door.

Yes, there’s no more that I’d want from the place up above,

than the land I have come from, the turf that I love.

It’s a wonderful country… and I’ll rest ‘neath its heather.

When I’ve finished this life, take me home there, forever.