Poems by "Cushag"/Bons
BONS.
It'll be in the teens of years I'm livin' here alone,
An' the house is bare at me, too, like a ness when the birds is flown;
But the days is lonelier far pas' what it is in the night,
For then I'm stirrin' the bons till the house is full of light.
And then I'm seein' the lumpers all playin' about on the flure,
With pussy-bogh sthretchin' her back, and Daa comin' in on the dhure;
An' a long little family at us, Henery, John, an' Lil,
An' wan that was took at the Angels, an' Miriam Maud, an' Bill.
Henery went for a sailor, an' the ship went down in the night,
But I'm seein' him readin' his book when the bons is burnin' bright;
An' I'm feelin' me fut for the cradle, an' the tear dhroppin' down from the eye,
For the wan that was took at the Angels when I hadn't no time to cry.
Johnny was studdy uncommon, an' terrible fon' of the lan',
An' helpin' Daa with the bases an' givin' us all a han';
Billy an' him went foreign—I h'ard they were doin' well,
But, the name of the place they was to, is beatin' all to tell.
The gels is married on farmers, an' bringin' a boy or a chile
For to see th' oul' granny an' all, an' he rared at me here for a while;
But I'm all as well by myself, for then in the mids of the night
I can stir up the bons on the chiollagh till the house is full of light.
An' I sit with a fut on the cradle till the blaze is dyin' down,
An' the childher goin' a-mixin' with the shaddas creepenin' roun';
I'm watchin' wan an' another, an' always her that was took,
An' Daa comin' in on the dhure, an' Henery readin' his book.