Henderson, Jonathan (Ian)
Fan I wiz a lad at Kinghorn ferm
Forty-some years lang syne
Aul' Lewie taught me a' he thocht
An orra loon shid ken.
Fan t' hairst an' fan t' sow
Faur t' ile the threshin' mull
Foo t' thraw a chucken's neck an'
Ca' canny wi' the bull.
Foo t' swing a sharpent scythe
Find the rhythm o' the hyow
Foo t' muck the skittery greep
An milk a surly yowe.
Foo t' kittle the Fordie up
On a caul December morn
Foo t' big a bonnie ruck
An' full a cairt wi' sharn.
I wiz a roch, ramstoorie loon
A thochtie contermacious
Nae inclint t' be telt ava
A plooky pilliedacus.
Bit Lewie rasped ma edges aff
Wi' patience, wit an' skill
He harnessed me, an yokit me
An' bent me t' his will.
He cid be coorse an' crabbit fyles
An' mair nor a bittie morose
He telt me eence "Ah hae ma doots
That ye're worth the saut t' yer brose."
Bit maistly we got on nae bad
As we tyauved an' newsed thegither
An' the fifty years atween us
Didna muckle maitter.
Mony the strainer post we set
Mony the sheaf we oxtered
Mony the neep we ca'd inbye
Mony the beast we doctored.
Kinghorn's no a ferm nae mair
The loon's nae langer lean
The years blawn aff like wind-teen chaff
An' Lewie's darg's lang deen.