The Gaelic Poetry Nook will present poetry both in English and Gaelic.

Thoir Dhomh Do Lamh	Give Me Your Hand
Thoir dhomh do làmh. Tha am foghar air teachd. Coisichidh sinn fo na craobhan anns an aon solus a tha singilte mar stàilinn. Tha na craobhan gun chrùintean. Tha iad air call an sìoda. Dh' fhàg na banrighrean sinn. Tha iad gun ghùintean, rùisgte do 'n t-sitig. Thoir dhomh do làmh. Tha am fuachd air tighinn. Fairichidh tu 'na do chnàmhan crith an zero ud, gath na rioghachd a dh'fhalbh. Tha na craobhan mar thermometeran deàlrach, fosgailte. Chan fhaicear scùgh annta. Tha an sùgh air cromadh sios do'n talamh. Thoir dhomh do làmh. Tha sinn mar chloinn arm an sgialachd aosda a sgrìobh Hans Andersen anns an fhoghar.	Give me your hand. The autumn has come. We will walk under the trees in the one light that is single as steel. The trees are without crowns. They have lost their silks. The queens have left us. They are without gowns, naked to the weather. Give me your hand. The cold has come. You will feel in your bones that shiver of zero, that posthumous kingdom. The trees are like thermometers shining and visible. No sap is seen in them. The sap has descended into the earth. Give me your hand. We are like children in an old story written by Hans Andersen in the autumn.
Iain Mac A' Ghobhainn	Iain Crichton Smith

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