It is February in Edinburgh,
When the rest of the world appears.
Not a pressure that occupies
this city, that city, this world or that.
But a returning clarity,
an old friend.
Each mind feels it on their journey,
an ageing pique which unfurls.
Every segment read and each passage written,
a printed slab which supports the world.
Exclusive to each brain and soul,
though similarities, celebrated, do arise.
These epochs, however they’re told,
have different bedrocks in different eyes.
These works are provision,
experience in life’s wages.
A resource to be shared,
squirrelled in humankind’s pages.
So read what you know,
be it poetry or prose,
and then write an essay on it for good measure.