WILLIE WINKIE - William Miller Poems


Poems » william miller » willie winkie


                                   rins through the toon,
Up stairs an doon
                                   stairs in his nicht-gown,
Tirlin' at the window,
                                   crying at the lock,
"Are the weans in their bed,
                                   for it's now ten o'clock?"

"Hey, Willie Winkie,
                                   are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin' grey
                                   thrums to the sleepin hen,
The dog's speldert on
                                   the floor and disnae gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrif laddie
                                   that wanna fa' asleep."

Onything but sleep, you rogue,
                                   glow'rin like the moon,
Rattlin' in the airn jug
                                   wi' an airn spoon,
Rumblin', tumblin' roon about
                                   crawin' like a cock,
Skirlin' like a kenna-what,
                                   waukenin' sleepin' folk.

"Hey, Willie Winkie,
                                   the weans in a creel,
Wamblin' aff a bodie's knee
                                   like a verra eel,
Ruggin' at the cat's lug and
                                   rauelin' a' her thrums --
Hey, Willie Winkie,
                                   see, there he comes!"

Wearit is the mither
                                   that has a stoorie wean,
A wee, stumpie, stousie,
                                   that canna rin his lane,
That has battle aye wi'
                                   sleep afore he 'll close an e',
But a kiss frae aff his
                                   rosy lips gives strength anew to me.