‘Na cluinneam nach eil subh-làir…’
Na cluinneam nach eil subh-làir
agad air fhàgail sa bhùth;
tha mo ghaol-sa gam feitheamh,
na bris, a fhir-reic’, a dùil –
thoiream bagaid dhiubh dhachaigh
far an gabh sinn, fear seach fear,
ri ithe gach meas’ milse,
gu còrdadh rithe gach dearc,
(gus am fàg sinn an soitheach
’s e a’ coimhead falamh, bàn,
gun ach duille na caithne
a’ rosadh fhathast sa chlàr.)
Mar sin, a dhuine fhialaidh,
is math as fhiach iad a’ phrìs;
na can rium nach eil cuibhreann,
blasad suibh-làir dom ghaol fhìn!
About this poem
This is an overheard poem where we listen to the speaker pleading with a shopkeeper for his last punnet of strawberries, his love's favourite fruit. We also get to eavesdrop on his thoughts about what will happen when he gets them home.
