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Welcome to the website of Scottish Contemporary Artist

 

 

Rosie Newman

 

Song

 

A rowan like a lipsticked girl.

Between the by-road and the main road

Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance

Stand off among the rushes.

 

There are the mud-flowers of dialect

And the immortelles of perfect pitch

And that moment when the bird sings very close

To the music of what happens.

 

 

Seamus Heaney