Sally F.

Some things, sometimes the older ones, do not get lost.
Annie Laurie, eponymous song of my grandma, six generations
back, is still sung in the Highlands
where she lived in that big house, they say.
I learned the title and nearly half the words,
remembered Grandpa Robin telling stories
about the revolution’s celebrations
he relived each time the frosts came, then — softly —
he’d hum the Annie Laurie tune — the same
as I would later, polishing the silver spoon
my husband’s grandfather made when “our side” won.