(Jamie, 2004, Hawick)
That’s his kitbag lyin there.
I wonder if his shirt’s folded square.
I ayeways hae tae turn his collar doun –
he’s got that lang and lanky
cuttin gress an diggin gairdens.
The Airmy recruiters looked that smairt,
staunin bi the Horse an the Cross.
They let him feel the wecht of the gun,
telt him there wis mair
than cuttin gress an diggin gairdens,
offered him a trade,
said he’d see the world,
wear the Black Cock feather.
That’s his kitbag.
The officer brocht it.
He said Jamie
fell wi honour.
He said I cuidna see him,
cuidna touch his hair
or turn his collar doun,
An I showed him the gairden
The grund, that broon and empty,
waitin’ for the floo’ers.