Homage to Rob Donn

From the Gaelic of Iain MacEachainn

One plant in every garden
aye wants the soil it needs
Filius ante patrem
The flowers outgrow their seeds.
Should favour for my talents
in eternity be found,
my best verse, in the balance,
will be owing to Rob Donn.

I once was used to making rhyme
that won my friends’ goodwill.
In taverns, where they’d pass the time,
they’ll no forget my skill.
But that old trade, I’ll now deny.
My taste for it is dead.
I’ll give it up, but surely try
to honour you, like this, instead.

On days when light is dwining
the earth’s beset with gloom,
but let thon sun start shining
and joy returns to every room.
My own verse may be rejected,
tunelessly lacking renown,
but whenever our art is respected
they’ll pay homage to you, Rob Donn.