An ancient toun o’ kirk an’ spire

   Wi’ streets and vennels o’ desire,

Whaur dreams aye fand a safe retreat

   An’ mine began on Kirkland Street.

I hae some mind o’ fifty-five

   An’ o’ the struggles tae survive;

The times were hard — the living sair,

   But war-time’s ever hardly fair.

The ration coupons, I mind tae —

   But yet we managed day by day.

There was aye crack and aye the thocht,

   Aboot the lads wha went and focht.

We ran the Glebe and Crosshill Road

   As far as Francis’ auld abode;

We played ahint the graveyard dyke,

   An’ rode the Vennel on a bike!

The Breek an’ Bench stood mony a year

   An’ still evokes, aye mony a tear.

Its big Bough Door was fun an’ play,

   As was Pat’s Corner, ‘neath the brae;

I hae some memory o’ the Cairn

   It’s there I first began tae learn;

There was aye fun and games galore

   An’ noo an’ then, the auld yin’s roar!

If I was puir I didnae ken,

   My childhood was yon but-an-ben;

In retrospect, were times sae bad?

   A’ I could dae was be a lad.

Thus dreams remain my safe retreat,

   An’ they belang on Kirkland Street!

William Davidson         August 9, 2010