Grandfather

It’s leansome here i’ t’ hoose, lass, When t’ fisher-folk’s at sea, Watchin’ yon eldin set i’ t’ fire Bleeze up, dwine doon, an’ dee. An’ t’ sea-gulls they coom flyin’ Aboon our red roof-tiles; They call me doon the chimley, An’ laugh at other whiles.

“There’s mack’rel oot at sea, lad,” Is what I hear ’em say; “Their silver scales are glestrin’ breet, Look oot across the bay; But mack’rel’s not for thee, lad, For thoo’s ower weak to sail.” My een wi’ saut tears daggle When I hear their mockin’ tale.