Ode to Edinburgh, without Irony.(Poem)

 
Ode to Edinburgh, without Irony 
 
   The not too distant hills are white 
   with a snow-covering silence, water 
   seizes up on the footpaths, and crackles, 
   foxing under every toe. 
   The Scots could be 
   stopped by it but aren't. 
   It was a Scot who told me 
   "There are three types of accountant: 
   those who can count 
   and those who can't." 
   Glazed with winter, the festival city 
   does not lose a touch 
   of its dark-stoned elegance. 
 
   O Edinburgh, Eden borough, 
   elegant as a burly clipper 
   sailing stately through the hours. 
   Even your stark, cold castle, that 
   calls up a headless queen, suggests 
   an ambiguous attitude to ...