The Plaid O Ma Faithers

Tak aboot ye, ma luve, the plaid o ma faithers,
Wuiven for rovin’ the muirs an the heather,
That sleep aneath stanes in thair cours native oo,
For thae deed in time’s airms frae a luve like mine,
An tuim’d the tass o luve till thair hairts war fou,
For thay haedna grapes for wine.

Tak aboot ye, ma luve, the deep blae of yon sky,
That oor mithers brung doun frae the heivens maist hie
Tae lit the saft cloot A pit on yer shouder,
The colour o Mary, the Mither o God,
An ye shall be sonsie tae ilka behauder,
Sae lang as yer feet touch sod.

Tak aboot ye, ma luve, the white strip o the plaid,
Tae honour the Virgin, the richt Haly Maid,
And the green o the forest, the colour of howp,
Tae ettle that iver oor Makar we please,
And find oor wey hame, tho we wander an growp,
Amaing frichtsome woods and trees.

And the ryal red strip tak aboot ye, ma luve,
Weir it ayeways upon ye, ma douce bonnie dove,
The colour of Him that was sent frae abuin,
On the Cross for tae bleed, tae end the derk nicht,
That the sins o aw flesh nae maire haud us doon
At the comin o the licht.

© Joseph Charles MacKenzie. All Rights Reserved.