The wounded gull in flight
Banking, rolling, spinning, dropping
Through the everlasting clouds of night . . .
A shining light

Free-falling above the still streets
The dark, drab, dreary streets
A hailstorm in declension
Upon the dreamless streets

The pealing bells, loud and deep and dear,
In vibrant despair
Singing from the belfries.

Sweet strangers lying,
Resting on the soft moors,
The still fields of Dumfries.