
Paraffin Lamp
Nae switchin’; ye quietly tak’ yer stan’,
An’ - taper lit in ready han’,
the wick’s engulfed in bluish licht.
Gless chimney noo, an’ then it’s nicht,
Wi’ mantle saftly burnin’ bricht.
There’s never plug, nor clever fuse,
Tae stifle yins’ poetic muse,
Jist…. raither like a thing ye’ve read
In books maybe; on chair, in bed,
Or even somethin’ folk have said.
Think o’ The Lady Wi’ the Lamp,
Or - wis yin used by Sairy Gamp?
Oil fer the Lamps O’ China, tae’
Nae lamp, whit wid Aladdin dae?…
There’s food fer thinkin’ here, a’d say.
Ach, draw the curtains; lamps are rare,
nae electricity, nor glare,
Bit jist an aul-world way tae shine,
like candles, used fae stert o’ time.
They gie me pleesur’, me an’ mine.