At Portmary
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- Published on Friday, 01 March 2013 14:31
- Written by Maggi Kaye
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At Portmary
Lassie wi’ the lang e’en
What garred ye gang sic a gait?
To come fleein’ wild ower the cauld moss
To sic an ill fate?
What garred ye lippen on bounty
Frae yon black-hertit queen?
Peety there’s nane in yon prood face
Wi’ its cauld gled’s e’en.
O lassie wi’ the lang e’en,
Better if Solway’s sea
Had row’d ye ower and happit ye bein
To a’ eternity.
D.M.P. ©