This strange man says, “Gies yer maidenhead.” Ane lanely terrifyin mornin “I cuid pey ye weel, an make ye squeal, If ye let me touch yer yellow yellow yorlin.” Whit shuid I dae, whit cuid I say? My hert’s sairly forfochan He is the hawk and I am his prey Hoo dae I save my yellow yellow yorlin? I cuid fain the musk o anither man’s lust, Tell this bastard that I’ve got a darlin Or tak his siller and pretend, that I dae consent Tae the stealin o my yellow yellow yorlin Aw in vain, he kens I’m aw alane His lust is owerpooerin, Doon on the grun, my skirts upturned An he’s clawin fer my yellow yellow yorlin Time stapped still, it wis my will Nae fechtin and nae squealin The sun it shone, on this fine May morn But my body it lay there frozen I steyed still there, stinging an sair The pain I kept it hidden If he thocht me tame, I’d mibbes get hame Tae see anither May mornin He’ll be conveenced, by his conscience When it comes a cawin My stillness was my acquiescence Tae the giftin o my yellow yellow yorlin Beauty’s a curse and at it’s worse Comes wi predatory warnings O men wha swell wi entitled pride Tae hunt and stab the yellow yellow yorlins
About this poem
This poem was commissioned by the Scottish Poetry Library for Burns Day 2022.