What is the collective noun for makars?
A murder of makars, like a colloquy of crows,
a hoarse conclave of doom
rebuking us from their pulpit,
perched on some bare tree branch
that has yet to recover from winter
and put out new buds
and alleviate the harsh doctrine
with the promise of the brief respite
a Scottish summer provides?
Perhaps a mell of makars
letting their lines wriggle like worms
across the pasture of the page,
or a mischief of makars,
like mice nibbling old books
written by illustrious predecessors
as if they were loaves of bread,
the library a bakery, a boulangerie,
a patisserie of poetry, their own poems
still half baked? Or a mob of makars?
No, poets are not like kangaroos,
but more like peacocks
in their confident, flamboyant display,
as they open their latest collection to read,
so it must be a muster! A muster of makars!
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