On Drowsy Brae

On Drowsy Brae

‘What are ye daein here, on Drowsy Brae?
Letting the gress grow aneath ye, in amang
this saft brome, weel-kenned as sleepies?’

Forwandert, we’re doverin ower,
takkin a rip o pluff-gress for a pillow
whaur it is nid-nod-nodding.

Oor darg maks us sair forfochten
and taigled wi aa the chainges,
we’ve lain doon, tyke-tired.

We’ll streek oor length on Drowsy Brae
for that’ll keep oor banes green.
We’ll sleep as soond as a peerie.

We’ll mind o this, when we wauken,
oor fowk were aye made o gress,
bairns o the yird an o the universe.

forwandert, weary with wandering

doverin ower, falling asleep

pluff-gress, Yorkshire fog

darg, work

sair forfochten, exhausted

taigled, tired, harassed

tyke-tired, dog-tired

yird, earth

photograph: Looking over to Hoy from Citadel, Stromness, Orkney, September