The Habbie saw the light o’ day

In bold historic verse frae Sempill,

But Ramsay forged anither way

Wi’ Ever Green;

It still remains a prime example

O’ whaur we’ve been.

Young Fergusson propelled anew

But fell tae death’s untimely curse,

Then cam a rhymer frae the pleugh

Ca’d Rantin’ Rabbi;

Who wi’ his pen and scathing verse

Took up the Habbie.

Maist poets ponder owre this form

And try at least ane lang epistle,

But truth be telt it’s no’ the norm

Fur modern sang,

It’s fur the bards wha love the thistle

And still belang.

Twa hundred fifty years are gang

And bardships still are scarce and few;

And there’s nae voice tae sing her sang

Or lead her choir,

‘Twad mak you wonder if we’re true

Tae Scotia’s lyre.

But noo the Habbie’s Lang Syne faded

Yet we maun steer her wi’ a kittle;
And lest you sangsters think it’s jaded

It could be worse,

E’en though the flow’r has lost it’s petal

We still hae verse.

Let’s mak this pious boast m’lad
And tak a seat lang side the sonnet,
We’ll gie them a’ the dog tae haud
And sae nae mair;
Then tae the Habbie tip your bonnet
A’ you that care.

He learnt his craft and took the helm

Then tae the Pearly Gates did rise,

And wi’ the greats o’ every realm

He sat him doun,

Still Rabbie roams through paradise

Wi’ Scotia’s Croon.

William Davidson         02/05/09-02/13/09