The Kendlers

The Kendlers

 

Sune efter lowsin-time, wi the milkin’ dune,

Dae ye mind o slippin’ saft-fittit

Awa to the hill?

Dae ye mind the white mist lyin’ laigh I’ the howes

An’ the bum-clock breengin’ bye

I’ the gloamin’-hush sae still?

 

And syne, gaun linkin’ hame I’ the mirk, wi’ the hoolets cryin’,

And a wee, sma’, curly mune catched low

In the birken tree;

Wi’ the auld whin-rits left happit ablow their buss, forgotten;

But heaven’s ain glory melled wi’ the mune and the whinny hill

And the love-licht in your e’en?

 

An’ your ainsel rowin’ a wheen auld rits

In your harn-apron, an’ happin them safe and snod

In the beild o’ a buss –

Giud kendlers thae, ablow the parritch-pot on the swee

For the morn’s morn; and dae ye mind on the lad

That fleeched for a kiss?

 

D.M.P