happy little sigh

Summer

Another dreich* Scottish day—

The air, it runs with silver grey,

With droplets on the window panes,

And from the sun, the mist reclaims

The gently sloping highland hills,

All purple-clad and heather-filled.

Down in the glens, and ‘long the shore,

The wind, it howls, the rain, it pours.

The burns* are filled, the roads a-flood,

And many-a-field’s a sea of mud.

The mums, they all bemoan the rain,

For now their washing’s wet again.

And the children long to get outside,

For games to play and bikes to ride.

The farmers say their barley’s soaked,

And though it’s June, the chimneys smoke.

But in castles great, and wee bothies*,

The folks enjoy a spot of tea,

Or don their trendy Wellingtons*

(What good are these, when there is sun?).

The strawberries are somehow picked,

And beaches walked, and ice-creams licked.

There is no lack of summer fun

Even without the shining sun.

And if the sun stayed for too long,

They’d all complain, and wish it gone.

© Avonlea Q. Krueger

*dreich – wet and dreary , burn – stream, bothie – small cottage, Wellington boots – rain boots