Dailygan
James Fenton
An noo the lichts ower Broghanor mak blak the brae behin;
The sallies, hoovin saft an grey, come getherin, cloodin in;
The watther, glancin ower its dark, babs lippin, whusperin by;
The boag’s dark-sweelin, quait, aroon the tummock whar ye lie.
The peats’ quait low, the week’s saft licht mak black the ootby noo;
The prootas plowt; the neeps’ sweet steam cloods roon hir sweetin broo;
Ower qua an boag, through queelrod wa, thon licht’s a gleekin ee
Frae whar ye come an whar ye’ll gae tae nether stie nor lee.
Next: Blue-a-knowe
Previous: It's ill tae mine
Contents: Ullans: The Magazine for Ulster-Scots, Nummer 7 Wunter 1999
