POEM TITLE
‘Frae mony years ahent the strife
POEM
‘Frae mony years ahent the strife
(Reader - pray gie the scriever historic license tae taigle by a puckle years the daiths o’ Mary an’ her hauf-brither and alloo sicht o’ braw avuncular coonsel)
‘Frae mony years ahent the strife
Twixt kings and queens or lads and quines
T’was in the Pot wi’ beers and wines
We’d drown all sorrow and forget the wife.
Young Jamie braw, wi his Moray chum
Would come aroon tae tak his fill
Tae tease the lassies and gie them thrill
And quiz the Laird aboot his Mum
The night grew hot wi’ brandy randy
The lassies many - which one to choose?
Tae tak o’er when we’re done wi booze
An whaur to go? The Castle’s handy…
Haud fast, the Regent’s still in charge
Holds Scotia’s reign and Jamie’s reins
Still sober as e’en the tenth he drains
“It’s hame alane in the Royal Barge”
"For yon Knox's aye knockin at the door
Proddie Peace maun' hold, so nae houghmagandie
Tae be a King's no just quines and candy
Buchanan telt ye - you know the score! "
Thus Jamie learnt tae be a Prince
An’ bide his time while his mither withered
Baith waiting while Queen Lizzie dithered
Bit hindmaist decided - an’ made him wince.
Puir Jamie! There’ll be nae mair beer
Nor buxom lassies tae grope their gowns
Sober the man who maun wear twa crowns
New Bibles gie us and a God tae Fear!
And thank the Lord! The Pot persists
Through plagues and wars, the wine still flows
Tho’ sair oor sorrows, here croose Hope glows
Auld sangs lilt syne, amang Time’s mists.
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