The Biryin

Luckin ower the wat binged clie an

Twarthy hingin flures,

Awa ower the laich wuthered boags

Tae the quait braes an slow

Watters o the ither worl whar, yince,

Three weetchils run wile an free,

They taen, the wat greyheids, tae

Minin an, minin, gaen leppin thegither,

Speelin, hokin, ginnlin, kickin enless

Fitba; tae, blootered (they wur owl

Gettin), they stapped tae luck for

Whar a coved dake, a scroag, a sheugh

O scootin stricklies wur, whar

Thon hoose yince stud, or stud

A rickle noo, whiles quick-chakkin

Ither’s minin, an coonted the

New hoozes, white blocks, maistly, an

Whiter gettin as the fiels an braes

Darkened bak, for it wuz

Gettin on; tae the yin, luckin roon

Him, allooed:

‘We’r wer lane, it lucks.’

An the ither, lachin bak: ‘We’ll lift

Or they jalooze we aiblins thocht

It wuznae worth wer while.’ An baith

Lached then, a weethin, nixt

The rinnin clie.

Gan oot, they stapped, yince, luckin bak

Ower the wat grey heidstanes.

‘Ay, London, wuzn’t it? Bak tae

Dee, ye micht say. An yersel —

Did ye —?’

‘Naw. Ower late. Hard he wuz hame an

Hard it wuz a’ by.’

‘Ay. A’ by. Ay so.’

Bae the braid appen gates they pahsed

Agane, stud luckin at

Ither.

‘A lang time,’ the yin allooed. ‘A

Lang, lang time.’

An ‘Ower lang,’ the ither. ‘Ower lang.’

An grupped ither’s han, howlin on

A wee langer.

‘Dear Guid!’ the yin, an

‘Och noo!’ the ither. Then, quick,

Considerin their years,

They gaen frae ither, nether

Luckin bak.