Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

i.m. Mike and Barbara Heasman

Let is now give thanks

for these salt-blown

wind-burned pastures

where outgrass and timothy

shrink from the harrow of the sea

where Scotland at long last

wearies of muttering its own name

where we may begin

to believe we have always known

what someone in his wisdom

must have meant

when he gave us everything

and told us nothing.