Christmas in Linlithgow
by Pauli Dutton

Outside the swans glide the loch.
Families toss oats to ducks
or hike to Linlithgow Palace.
And we’re not there.

In this ye olde one street town
where Mary Queen of Scots was born
folks celebrate with knightly joust.
And we’re not there.

Our daughter dons a tartan
nuzzles a bundle in a red onesie.
There’s a new baby boy at home.
And we’re not there.

Her husband wears a golden crown.
The 4-year-old sticks out his tongue.
The six-year-old still mans the throne.
And we’re not there.

The little one murmurs and coos
to his adoring Scottish Grandma.
Grandpa greets carolers at the door.
And we’re not there.

At Christmas our daughter Skypes
while we stay warm at home.
We visit when blooms paint paradise
not under the weather, in icy cold.



 

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