I Can Hear the Rain Old Edinburgh Town
Arthur's seat sits hidden by the cloak of night, his head up in the clouds.
Princes Street lies empty, no royals, no life, no crowds.
Nelson stands neglected, having made a monumental mistake.
Charlottes' going square without new books to articulate.
St Giles has closed his doors to weary pilgrim seeking refuge.
The Palace has lost its money, its reputation, its gold.
Up at the castle, the one o clock gun,
sounds to mourn Edinburgh's loss.
For all I hear, tonight and every night,
is the pitter patter of the rain.
It marks the tears of old Edinburgh town wondering,
will I be loved again?
Where be the Scottish man in kilt with bagpipe sash?
Or corner street drunken birthday bash?
Edinburgh weaps the soil untrodden,
those lost of late shan't be forgotten.
May we once more run wild with glee,
old Edinburgh town, the land of the free.
5.15.21
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