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
sair forfochten, exhausted
taigled, tired, harassed
photograph: Looking over to Hoy from Citadel, Stromness, Orkney, September