Poetry Archives

Greitna, father, that I’m gauin,
  For fu’ well ye ken the gaet;
I’ the winter, corn ye’re sawin,
  I’ the hairst again ye hae’t.

I’m gauin hame to see my mither;
  She’ll be weel acquant or this!
Sair we’ll muse at ane anither
  ‘Tween the auld word an’ new kiss!

Love I’m doobtin may be scanty
  Roun ye efter I’m awa:
Yon kirkyard has happin plenty
  Close aside me, green an’ braw!

An’ abune there’s room for mony;
  ’Twasna made for ane or twa,
But was aye for a’ an’ ony
  Countin love the best ava.

There nane less ye’ll be my father;
  Auld names we’ll nor tyne nor spare!
A’ my sonship I maun gather
  For the Son is king up there.

Greitna, father, that I’m gauin,
  For ye ken fu’ well the gaet!
Here, in winter, cast yer sawin,
  There, in hairst, again ye hae’t!