Granda

Gartshore, Maurice

Granda wis a muckle man
Wi' reid cheeks
Under the bunnet
Ye'd think he wis born wi'.
Ye'd aye tak that look
In his een for laughter,
Smilin' or no.

He wis a knuckle
Short o' a hale finger
On his left han':
A life in the steelworks
At Cambuslang
Took its ounce
O' flesh n' bane.

He'd live in his gairden
That sloped like his shouders;
Grew rows o' cabbages n' kail
That pluffed oot steam
In the sma kitchen.
And ayeways the Branston
On the oilcloth reid wi' poppies.

A reader, the auld man:
Elephant Jim wi' its yellow
Jacket, and Dickens too.
Nae dunderheid this workin' man
But born afore
The warld kent
How tae gie brains a better chance.