Write the lines o your ain life, for now I am done.

We have already received enquiries from Lothian & Borders Police about Margaret’s availability over the next year — apparently they have several unsolved cases which need her attention.

These are the lines and the loves o my life

Allegedly Chris is considering leaving photography to embark on a new career as a private eye.

But something has been bothering us. Line 5 reads:

The Kirk was demolished in 1848 to make way for Waverley Station, and Elizabeth was born in 1804. We know nothing about her mother, but … how could a previous generation know that the Kirk would be demolished? The poem can hardly be the same one that was passed through the generations.

Maybe the final lines will shed light on this.

The recovered words of Elizabeth’s poem have been coming back to us at strange times: when we’re walking at night; snatches on the radio; in the middle of other texts. We’ve found ourselves trailing off in the middle of random conversations, distracted by a word or a phrase. I think we’ve all been asked, with some irritation, “When will you be finished with this Hunt The Poem thing?”

Then this morning, this turns up in the mailbox:

Don’t worry, because you are invited to the closing event and prizegiving at the Poetry Library on Saturday, 3pm–5pm. Come along, bring your friends, drink our free wine and juice, meet the other hunters and, at last, the Hunt The Poem team. We will answer your questions on the challenges and — hopefully — assemble Elizabeth’s poem at long last.

Hope to see you there!

My second not as kind as my first,

You can still hunt line 9 yourself for fun but the prize is gone! Why not concentrate on Line 1 instead?

The downturn in the economy has closed many small businesses around the city. One poem hunter — who wants to remain nameless, for reasons which will become obvious — has been clearing an office in Tollcross which was, in happier times, a photographer’s studio. In one of the cupboards she discovered a box of prints marked UNCOLLECTED, and on a impulse slipped them into her bag to save them from the sheriff’s officers.

When she looked through them at home, among the many sombre family groups and devotional portraits she discovered a familiar name: Elizabeth Galbraith. The dates do seem to correspond to what we know of Elizabeth’s lifespan.

Could this be a photograph of Elizabeth, the last one to carry this particular poem?

Wed in the Trinity Kirk, afore it came down;

You can still hunt line 5 yourself for fun but the prize is gone! Why not try Line 1 or Line 9 instead?

Little did we know he had already made some new friends across the globe — by sheer determination — and he carried two poems by post to bring home Line 10.

Squire of the slums with a jailor’s hands

You can still hunt line 10 yourself for fun but the prize is gone! Try another line instead?

But wait …