From the corner of Scotland I know so well 

I see Edinburgh sprawling like seven cats 

on its seven hills beside the Firth of Forth. 


And when I'm in Edinburgh I walk amongst the mountains and lochs 

of that corner that looks across the Minch to the Hebrides. 


Two places I belong to as though I was 

born in both of them. 


They make every day a birthday, 

giving me gifts wrapped in the ribbons of memory. 

I store them away, greedy as a miser.


A Poem by Norman MacCaig
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