A Poet’s Welcome to his Love-Begotten Daughter - by
Thou’s welcome, Wean! Mishanter fa’ me,
If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy Mamie.
Language: Scots
Dr Wha - by
Wha’s jist a thoctie in anither’s heid?
Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor s^he?
Doctor Wha - by
Wha’s Doctor Wha?
Hello, I am Scotland - by
Who wakes every morning
/ in a brilliant mood as auburn bursts
/ cast filigree nets over foreheads
/ and swingparks and paint themselves
/ on pavements.
Cradle Sang - by
Fa’ owre, fa’ owre, my hinny,
/ There’s monie a weary airt;
/ And nae end to the traikin,
/ For man has a hungry hert.
/
/ What…
Aince Upon a Day - by
Aince upon a day my mither said to me:
Dinna cleip and dinna rype
And dinna tell a lee.
The Field by the Lirk o’ the Hill - by
Daytime an’ nicht,
Sun, wind an’ rain;
The lang, cauld licht
O’ the spring months again.
Here’s the Weather - by
Fae stooshie tae fankle tae bouroch tae dreck / we’re steeped in the downpour of dialect.
/ …
from The Bruce - by
A! Fredome is a noble thing
/ Fredome mays man to haiff liking.
/ Fredome all solace to man giffis,
/ He levys at es that…
This Is It - by
Skint, baw ragged, poackets ful eh ma
/ fingers, cannae afford tae burn toast an
/ it’s November. Christmas is close. Av been
/ away bit…
Trespassing - by
The road was liker a burn :
/ But the trees in the glen were new in leaf,
/ Ilk bairn I met had…
The Neep-Fields By the Sea - by
Ye’d wonder foo the seasons rin
This side o’ Tweed an’ Tyne;
The hairst’s awa’; October-month
Cam in a whilie syne,
But the stooks are oot in Scotland yet