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Elphinstone Kist   Doric Verse

The Tabby-eynd     by: Gardner, Dr Bruce K.

Fan I wis growin up, ‘twis graund
tae jink aboot the streets;
tae play at chasies, kick ‘e can
an ither kin’ o treats.
Wi cocksy-cousies fae ma da,
I saaw the warld richt fine,
bit fand that ilka joy o youth
hed, aye, its tabby-eynd.

Richt seen I wis pit intae sheen
an telt tae gyang tae schuil,
far teachers spak at ye gey posh
an garr’t yer wee hert duil.
I warsl’t throw fae Monday morn
till Thorsday’s trauchl’t line,
bit aye I hatit Friday waur -
‘e wick’s coorse tabby-eynd.

An aa throw ilka daily darg,
I min’ ‘is lesson fine:
in aa ye'll dae, the waur'll be
the tyauvin tabby-eynd.
I wis a sodger fer nine ‘ear,
a Deeside ghillie syne;
in work, or waar, the worst o aa
wis ‘e bitter tabby-eynd.

In waar an work, coorse gadgies shot
At tairgets, croochin’ doon,
Bit, files, the prey wull flee an lauch,
Like cushie doos in tune.
Bit, wind an weet, ye’re on yer feet,
file feels cry, “Howld thet line!”
Tho’ sair fed up, ye maun redd up -
‘twas aye the tabby-eynd.

Bit, noo it’s lowsin time, ma quine,
We wauken aifter sivven;
we sit in oor ain gairden, syne,
file ‘e Sun tyauves up tae hivven.
We say, “Life’s gweed!” file, aa aroon’,
Oor graund-bairns lauch and play.
Ach, quine, I think Life’s tabby-eynd
Is better nor ‘e day!



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