Poetry
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Obsession
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Obsession
What gars ye rime in Auld Scots leid
Sae sair an’ lang,
When few there be that read or heed
Your auldrife sang?
What sweeter tongue can ever hae
A lien on me?
I’ll screeve awa in’t, yea or nay,
Until I dee.
Is’t worth your while to carp awa
Wi’ nane to sing?
Forbye, what scouth hae ye ava
On ae gut string?
There’s aye an anterin chiel can feel
The lilt o’t yet,
An’ gar the hert’s bluid race an’ reel
Wi sang an’ sett.
But wae’s me! sir, it canna last,
Oor auld Scots tongue;
It’s fautit, fleer’d at, an’ declass’d
By auld an’ young.
When a ’oor story is forgot,
Oor tongue may dee:
Fell the affront an’ fell the blot
Gin that should be!
J G Horne