• Marcas Mac an Tuairneir

Marcas Mac an Tuairneir

Gille Grinn

Bha rudeigin san dòigh a shuaith e ghruaig far a bhathais is a làmhan air a chruachan aig cùl sluagh cloinne-nighean Ge 's bith brag a’ bhàl a sheachnas e, no an còmhrag ’s a bhios e ’n sàs, 's ann ann an ceàrn ciùin eanchainn, bhios seanais amharais a ghnàth.


Bidh an gille sin na dhannsair, na dhealbhadair, na bhàrd, ach bheir e ùine fhathast, mus lìonar na tha na bhroinn de bheàrn.


Fioliome Fantabulosa I vardad something in the way she zhuzhed her ends from her eek cackling, lill-on-hip, ajax a gaggle of billingsgates Maybe the schonk of the ball she swerves, or in barneys, battyfangs, but in the munge of her mind, savvies a doubt that nantie scarpers. Mais oui, dolly may a walloper be, a jogger, a screever in her time, but it’ll take a longola time, no flies, to josh up the nishta deep inside.



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