The Moon doon the Shore at Leith

 

Whaur moon’s reflection draps fae windaes intae watter,

An past shouts bend roond ivvery corner,

‘Caller ou!’, the fishwives wi their oysters holler,

Whiles sailors in their drink are fair coupin ower.

That was then, this is noo, an yet - an yet -

Their fitfaa’s ring wi every step ye tak,

Their worries laden high, teeterin lik yours dae,

An ye find yersel listenin in tae the wa’s,

The cobblestanes, an aa their stories tall an true,

Through the coorse hum o the city

An back tae the candle oil

An the burnt-oot reek o the docks o Leith.

An it settles ye some, at least fer noo,

Tae ken yer feet fit in tae the curves o these streets,

Juist lik those o the auld days aince did,

An yer story’ll fit in tae the mix

When ye fin the wirds that slip,

Nip an tuck neatlike

Intae the peeled edge lines o this place.