Disgruntled

These lines tell a tale of a warrior bold
When a youth fou o' pride and conceit,
Thought himsel' the possessor of wisdom untold
And imagined the ba' at his feet.

He was reared in a lanely, bare Douglasdale Glen,
In a cot by a hill burn side,
Where the sheep meant the life and mainstay of men,
And the whaups and the moorcock bide.

Away ower the distant years that ha'e fled
Since he bade his fareweel to the schule,
His heart wi' fond hope and ambition was led
To a life 'mong the sheep on the hill.

Wi' his crook and his plaid, and his dog at his heel,
The peak o' his youthfu' desire,
He set oot on life's journey, that time would reveal
Whether he'd set the heather on fire.

At his wark wi' the sheep on the Douglasdale braes
When the simmers were sunny and lang,
Or when blizzards o' snaw cam' and drifted for days,
He was happy when naething gaed wrang.

But through time in the herd's most exactin' routine,
That at times mak's the stoutest hearts quail,
He'd a twinge o' regret and inclined to compleen
Of a loss that there's thoosands bewail.

'Twas not that his love for his flock had grown less
Nor the lure o' the hills growin' stale;
But the knowledge he craved for and grieved to confess
Was denied through neglect o' the schule.

He could see as he strode ower the heather clad steep,
Or when climbin' the breest o' the ben,
That the scholar though merely a man among sheep
Could be mair than a sheep among men.

While the learned may rise to the hichts of renown
(Though the reason is ofttimes obscure),
The humble untutored is reckoned the clown
And has slights and neglect to endure.

Weel versed in the lore of the beasts and the birds
Compiled from dame nature's rich store;
But blunt and uncouth in the choice o' his words
That the lofty incline to ignore.

But the doric he speaks is the language o' hame
That nae Scotsman should ever dispise,
Where a spade is a spade, and needs nae ither name
Nor gentilities cloak o' disguise.

And if time could roll back the last sixty odd years
To his youth, wi' its pleasures and thrills,
He would scorn to desert what his heart still reveres
And would stick to the sheep and the hills.

Sair opposed to his will he was faced wi' the day
When health reasons forced him to retire
From the farmin' routine and the sheep on the brae
Without settin' the heather on fire.

Now this chap we discuss yince was lanky and lean,
Unburdened wi' trouble or care,
But noo has grown auld, and has specs ower his een,
And his croon has grown polished and bare.

But on these crude lines that may serve to amuse
There's no need that we langer should dwell,
As the reader, nae doot, will already jaloose
That their theme is the writer himsel'.