It’s exactly the right colour. It’s strange how a mud
Red works so well on the scale of titans and giants.
Placed against the blossoming monochrome flood
Of a Scotch June sky it hums softy to itself whilst
Wild shouts of wind encircle it, meaning no good,
Remembering with relish how it had laid low
A predecessor; but not here, where the mud
Red stalks are planted surely, reaching deep.