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In Over Carnbee

Tonight hang out the brightest light;
Tonight sister we to must say goodbye,
For summer's end has come too quick.

In Over Carnbee men reap the barley,
Then burn as fast the grassy waste.
So mark in heavens above the smoke
The gathering swallows sudden haste.

Recall our mother, in white linen, long ago,
Knelt in the same sunlit tower window;
Now weep nightingale, my sister, weep,
For all we knew then could not keep.

Tonight artic geese storm Kellie Law,
Hear again that unending, unholy shriek,
All crazed to burst open winter's door.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Last few words: 
A poem based on John Lorimer's painting, The Flight of the Swallows.
Editing stage: 


Nice sounds, nice space, I looked up the painting. I was not familiar with this fine craftsman painter:

I was surprised the painting wasn't a landscape of farms with barely, burning piles of waste, and geese ...instead a family scene in a room, which connect me only the image of your mother...

The poem itself I like on its own without reference to the painting.It shows a deep love of sound in language common to you lucky ones living in the Northern British isles.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

very much. I think your metre goes off a bit in the third stanza, which is harder to read out loud, than the others.
A lovely watercolour scene, well executed.

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