Somebody's laddie (1)
Typical wild yin passed me the day,
Jings! Whit a sicht – sae chance an’ wae,
Stockin’s a glaur, a cut on each knee,
Hole in his jersey; glint in his e’e.
Whaur wis he gaun – whaur had he been,
Stravaigin’ alang that road in a dream?
Thinkin’ perhaps o’ races he’d ran,
Or … jist whit wad he say tae his Mam?
The skellum
noo’ll be sleepin’ soond,
Scrubbed, fed, an’ set fur daily roond.
I hope he didnae catch it sair;
Somebody’s laddie, wi’ tousled hair.
