Princes Street Walk I am a native of Edinburgh,Auld Reekie born and bred, scrappy, beautiful, like our famous dog,And a beauty over a gory, bloody history. A melting pot of cultures,loud bagpipes, in endless loops1the Fringe, Hogmanay, Beltaine,the city alive, beautiful, brilliant. Athens-like Folly2, overlooksome modern shames, like the evertripline replacing trams3, whose tracks warp, even in theflash summers of Scotland. The misheard street names,that of Princes Street, in front of Queen,we stand there, by the Scott Monument,our picturesque ‘Goth Rocket’4waiting, for the One o’clock gun,tourists asking when, bemused residents answering,asking one another “if it’s not just in the name?”…
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