The time and date is:
7:30 pm Sunday, 17 December 2017
* Home

Sections
* Ballads
* Ballad Features
* Burns
* McGonagall
* Other Poetry
* Scottish Writers
* Scots Glossary

Poets
* Alphabetical List
* Featured List

Poems
* List of Topics

Songs
* Scottish Songs
* Modern Songs

Submissions
* Submit a Poem
* Submit a Song

Policies
* Copyright
* Permission
* Privacy
* Standards

Web Links
* Other Sites

Contact
* About Us
* E-mail Us

A Simmer Bonnet ©

Graham Donachie
Victoria, Canada
2003

Hae ye iver seen a sicht sae bonnie,
that ranks in loveliness wi’ onie
o’ natures melodies ?

Well... once

A rosebud lovely lass I spyed
wi’ retinue o’ lads loo’ eyed
wha, for her smile they abley vied
tae nae avail,
an sae tae Kirk an’ prayer they hie’d
in youthful trail.

She gie’d them nae the slichtest glance
as on she led them in their dance
but nane wad hae a beggar's chance
wi’ that sweet lass,
an’ doomed, tae ever luving trance
their tyme wad pass.

I watched her dainty footstep skips
an’ the blossom o’ her rose-red lips,
I langed but for, a nectar sip,
a sweetheart kiss,
my heart within luves tender grip
for that simmer Sunday miss.

As fate wad play its impish tease
a sudden gust o’ gentle breeze
blew her bonnet, wi’ playful ease
aff her chestnut mane,
an’ whisk’d it high, on windy seas
an’ her giddy cry in vain.

The bonnet waltzed in swirlin’ joy
an’ birlin’ like a peerie toy
the lass noo.. nae langer silly coy
in screamin’ laughter ran,
an lucky wha wad be the boy
t’wad mak the man..

That bonnet, skirlin’ in lofty fun
wi’ cheils pursuing on the run
breathless..they gie’d up the gun
an' chance wad play the ace,
I wad iver be the rising sun,
upon her lovely face..

At rest at my clumsy dusty feet
the bonnet rested.. in slumber sweet,
an’ stooping tenderly I retrieve’d
the wayward cap,
t’was in that June simmer heat
rose, my young-man sap.

She met my gaze wi’ broon ee’d look
an’ wi’ her smile she lovely took
the dark ..fae this dust feathered rook
an’ in her maiden's plight,
she wrest me fae my lonely neuk
tae be..her bonnie Knight..

Upon that simmers day, my fate
as often since, as I debate,
the meeting o’ my angel mate
t’was heaven sent,
She made me late for Sunday Mass-
I niver did repent.



Web Site by IT-SERVE © 1999 - 2017 All Rights Reserved Return to top