Loss

by James Sinclair

Blue-finned is joost my style
reekin o daeth
A’ll shun clean up eftir dee

Da Skipper took ta his bed
wi da lurgy an he niver lifted him more.
Lyin dere, gettin waeker an waeker
by da day, his life blòd ebbit awa.
Wir faith slidin in ta da mirk wi him.

Whit fate wid come ta wis aa? Dir wis nae hoop
an whit peerie coarn o charity, lost aboard wir floatin kist.
Ony, dat hed a peerie bit, gairded hit
laek a wild baess, ill-vynded an cornered.

An if someen sood pass ta da idder side,
da rest wid descend apo dir belangins
laek corbies apo  da cast oot lamb,
dey could barely wait fur da braeth ta laeve dem.

An eftir da doctor hed read fae da guid book,
we sang  da hollow wirds o a hymn inta da emptiness.