I must improve my confidence said North to South one day.
On no, said South convincingly, you’re where the mad folk play.
You don’t think me harsh, cold and barren? Questioned North.
Those are your strengths said South. You are Other. That’s your worth.
Outsiders cannot understand you North, but everyone sees through me,
I am on parade, proud of shallow, centre of the party;
North you are mystical and rough, dangerous and a bit odd.
I like you like that. You make me look good; they say you’re closer to god.
We kind of complement one another too, said South, don’t you think?
I keep on swimming freely, North, as you seem to slowly sink.
But should I North, not try to emulate you South?
The way you praise and flatter yourself?
Maybe then I would get on. I feel I’m letting myself down.
It’s no good North, you cannot change; you are the country clown.
You are as fixed as the heather on the moors. Coal in the earth. Wool on a sheep.
North you are like an innocent babe, at once awake asleep.
But my friends leave me for you, said North. I am not good enough.
They leave, and those that stay feel trapped, finding me too tough,
Locked in a moment of expectation leading to nowhere.
Who needs friends North dear? Said South. What would you have to share?
Enjoy your space, your freedom. If they leave you are better without them.
And if you need a patronising ear I am always here to make you see sense again.
North’s mind wanders, thinking about green hills, small villages, hearty food, and strong
Deep rooted friendships running through the becks with blossom and birdsong.
© Jennifer Winterburn