Drover

Ye’ll never gang north again.

Bide a blink
tae knit knots
in the tufted tails
o precious stots –
protect them fae
aul-warld witches
castin cantrips
tae spuil yer riches.

Ye’ll never gang north again.

Bird o my bosom,
dinnae be sae prood –
afore ye traivel
muckle miles sooth
withoot furrochin
aneath a roof,
wid ye let me waak
the deasil roon you?

Ye’ll never gang north again.

Wi a tup’s horn
o lammer whisky,
ingans and oatmeal,
whistle pibrochs
ower the Scots dyke, 
whar Heilan, Lallan
and Border-men
are aa man’s bairns.

Ye’ll never gang north again.

England’s sweet meadows
feed mony beasts,
sae dinnae be fechtin
ower whar they feast.
Keep yer sgian-dubh
healt and concealt
and darena you let
yer deil be dealt.

Ye’ll never gang north again.

Ye’ll see us Gaels’,
we bleed a richer reid
syne a wumman’s warnins
ye widnae heed –
ye will gie a life
for the ane ye’v tane.
Ye will never
gang north again.