Poetry Archives

Afore there was law to fleg us a’,
An’ schedule richt frae wrang,
The man o’ the cave had got the crave
For the lichtsome lilt o’ sang.
Wife an’ strife an’ the pride o’ life,
Woman an’ war an’ drink;
He sang o’ them a’ at e’enin’s fa’
By aid o’ the crambo-clink.

When the sharpest flint made the deepest dint,
An’ the strongest worked his will,
He drew his tune frae the burnie’s croon
An’ the whistlin’ win’ o’ the hill.
At the mou’ o’s cave to pleesure the lave,
He was singin’ afore he could think,
An’ the wife in bye hush’d the bairnie’s cry
Wi’ a swatch o’ the crambo-clink.

Nae creetic was there wi’ superior air
For the singer wha daur decry
When they saw the sheen o’ the makar’s een,
An’ his han’ on his axe forbye?
But the nicht grew auld an’ he never devaul’d
While ane by ane they would slink,
Awa’ at a rin to their beds o’ skin
Frae the soun’ o’ the crambo-clink.