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

Madainn Sneachda	Snowy Morning
Th àinig an sneachd gu sàmhach, gile gu samhach air gile, air a' choille, air an fheurach, air a' mhuir, gu coma. Bha reodhadh na linne do- mhothaichte, doilleireachadh sula 's an corp a' ragadh. Chomhdaich an sneachd i gu coma, mar bhrat. Tha darach air tuiteam air an leathad gheal, ceud samhradh a' crìonadh san t-solas fhann, a' feitheamh ri sàbh ann an lamhan meilichte. A' srannail mar dhràgonan aig a' gheata, na bà air am buaireadh leis an fhuachd, mì-fhoidhidinn 's an t-acras gan iomain: an àiteigin bidh na laoigh air chrith, neo-challaichte is aineolach, fon raineach. Tha na caoraich neo-ghluasadach, a' coimhead gun chaogadh on bhruthach, a' leigeil deatach lag arms an àile reota: fo thughadh sneachda, cnàmh-losgadh na beatha 'na sàmhchair so-leònte.	The snow came in silence, whiteness silent on whiteness, on the forest, on the meadow, on the sea, indifferently. The pool's freezing was imperceptible, the dulling of an eye and the body stiffening. The snow covered it indifferently, like a blanket. An oak has fallen on the white slope, a hundred summers wasting in the wan light, waiting for a saw in chilled hands. Snorting like dragons at the gate, the cows distracted by the cold, impatience and hunger driving them: somewhere the calves will be shivering, untamed and unknowing, under the bracken. The sheep are motionless, looking unblinking from the slope, releasing weak breath in the frozen air: under a thatch of snow, making life decompose into vulnerable silence.
Dòmhnall Rothach	Donald Munro

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