THE PIT DAITH O JIMMY FARRELL ©

Staunin here, beside yer heidstane,
I cannae help but think o ye liggan
In the bleckest tomb aa yer lane,
Ithers here hae their ain bit biggan,
Or are clappit weel ablow the cley,
Like maist fowk, the ordnar wey.

I’m the last yin wha kens the richt o’t,
There’s naething in yer kist but saun,
The ither miners are aa deid, the lot
Ticht mou’d aboot the mishanter bygaun,
A road steekit ticht frae ruif tae flair,
Ye dee’d neth a thoosan tons or rock, or mair.

I mynd the wee bit bairn, yer son,
Broukit, an’ wi’ een rubbed rid,
An’ the lair-side priest shakkin his haun,
The eulogy lang, phraisin an’ guid,
Yer soothfast wife, wi’ mony a tear, mony a prayer,
Pittan flouers abune a lyke that sadly wisnae there.