A Scottish Poem: Hame by annmackiemiller

Poetry by Ann Miller

Hame

by the fire

Yer asking me whit hame is?

Well, haud yer wheest a mo and let me think.

Weel then -

Hame is whaur the hert is -

is it no?

and once upon a time

twas whaur wallie dugs graced the mantle

and 3 geese traversed the wa'

in endless flight.

Hame was faither's pipe and the coloured cleaners

I bought him every year - you mind the kind.

He'd duly mak them intae wee men fer me,

He'd say 'here ye go bonny lass',

faithful pipe clenched tight in teeth

wi groove long worn.

Hame was couerieing in by the fire

tartan legs and cauld lugs.

It was a tully lamp in power cuts

and lightning visits tae the lavie.

It was a box foo o half pennies

we used when playing cards.

It was listening to the radio

while mum knitted socks

and dad mended shoes,

or tinkered wi his clocks,

ye mind? the anes he'd

be winding up to tell fowk

was time to leave when visiting;

'Here's yer hat and whit's yer hurry'

we'd laugh and joke

but that was him,

and his bedtime ritual.

Hame was sing-a-longs

when mum played piano;

it was books and music,

friends and fowk comin rund

for tea and sugary pancakes,

for help, or crack and telling jokes.

Hame was an open door

Mum's baking and dad's gerden.

Ye want mair?

Och weel

let's just say

Maste o' a' -

Hame is in the past.

Poetry copyright to AnnMackIeMiller