In Exile Metropolitan P.C. 367, E.C.

Up by the back o' BENNACHIE,
 Up North and hyne awa!
Och! that's far I would like to be
 For athing here 's a thra '.

Up at the back o' Bennachie,
 Far GAUDIE rins sae sweet!
Gin I were there I 'd be at hame,
 And off the hard steen street.

The street, the street, the weary street ,
 Be 't day shift or at nicht—
A hell o' shops and motor cars
 In bleezin' waste o' licht.

The thing roars by like DON in spate,
 But God knows far it gings—
I 'm on the bank an' needna speer
 Foo 't a' thegither hings.

I just pace on wi' steady beat
 An' files tak up a stan',
At corner bits, to ease my feet
 An' gie the tyauve a scan.

An 'then I'm back 'tween O YNE and I NSCH ,
 In blithesome caller air,
Wi' ae e'e on the Mither Tap ,
 The tither plooin' fair:—

Back far I ken it's fine to be
 In hairst time or in snaw —
Roun' by the fit o' BENNACHIE,
 The ae kind bit o' a'.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.