On Sunday the hawk fell on Bigging
And a chicken screamed
Lost in its own little snowstorm.
And on Monday he fell n the moor
And the Field Club
Raised in a hundred silent prisms.
And on Tuesday he fell on the hill
And the happy lamb
Never knew why the loud collie straddled him.
And on Wednesday he fell on a bush
And the blackbird
Laid by his little flute for the last time.
And on Thursday he fell on Cleat
And peerie Tom’s rabbit
Swung in a single arc from shore to hill.
And on Friday he fell on a ditch
But the questing cat,
That rival, rampant, fluttered his flame.
And on Saturday he fell on Bigging
And Jock lowered his gun
And nailed a small wing over the corn.
George Mackay Brown
Selected Poems 1954 – 1983