Cloth of the Clyde
by Muriel Burns
Shyly it slips to the surface, clear and cold
Trickling from its moorland prison, folded in the hills
Moving onwards
Forming curves, filling shallows
Slowly becoming that strong warp thread
Taking it through uplands and valleys
Heights and hollows
Growing as it brings in twisted cords of tributaries
Carrying with them scent and sense of countryside around
Interwoven weft threads now appear
Roads and people coming into its orbit
Bridges, old and stately, new and sparse
Spreading, contracting, as landscape dictates
The river heads towards the great plunge
Where it has gouged a cleft
Casting rock aside, falling in spectacular array
Gathering to itself both myth and mystery
Strong and deep, the warp moves on
Sharing its power, giving to the grid
Where once great wheels turned and industry held sway
Widening, it gathers tourists, fishermen
Old scent of red tomatoes
New scent of multi-coloured flowers
Contributing their richness to the flow
So many wefts are added to the texture
Shafts of history, towers, fortresses
Farmlands, herds of cattle,
Entertainment, factories, sheep,
Through city, ships and slips
And dark hued working places
Until the fringe splays out and pours into the sea