Ego baptizo in aqua…
For twenty-eight resplendent miles the River
Of Girvan strolls its way from village bridge
Through hamlet green to ocean’s great forever.
With lazy glide perhaps unfit for barge
And tow, its current speaks a gentle whisper
Of how the barley grain began to prosper
Above the town of Girvan proper: steam
That columned stills had harnessed – like a stream
That mills the bran– can turn its mash to liquid
Expressions, and gives the spirit’s vent
This day, the twentieth of Advent: Sent
To sanctify such ebb and flow depicted
In nature’s naked grain, only God would dare
Appear on earth so cold, so bare, so true, so there.
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