Corbie Faither
When God went gyte at the ill deedie warld,
He flooded the earth wi watter.
Some craiturs won aff tae Noah’s erk
But the corbie deefied the blatter.
He bided his time till a lown cam doon,
An the warld came tae itsel
He flew tae his nest tae flit the hoose,
Faur fae the wattery hell.
He says tae his firstborn: Lowp oan ma back!
Haud oan – we’ve miles tae flee.
But see when ah grow auld an dowf,
Wull ye mind an tak care o me?
The perr wir fleein heich in the lift
Ower reamin, jowin swaws.
The firstborn took wan keek at the flood
Afore fricht culd steek his jaws:
Oh, faither, faither, ah’ll see ye richt!
Ye ken ah luve ye so!
Ah’ll big ye a hoose, an mak yer tea;
Ah’ll see ye richt, wull ah no?
The faither thocht, then jouked an jinked,
An gied his shooders a shoogle.
He tipped the firstborn intae the sea,
Birlin at force centrifugal!
The aff he flew tae gaither the naist:
Heeze up! We’ve far tae gang.
The sea is deep – haud oan ticht.
There’s miles an the journey lang.
See when ah’m auld an donnerty-daft
Wull ye mind yer faither, or whit?
Or follae the weel yaised path o youth,
An leave me in the bit?
Ocht, faither, wid ah dae sic a deed?
Tae forget ma ain flesh an bluid?
Ah’ll dae yer messages, wash yer claes,
If ye save me fae this flood!
Ya wee sneck drawer, ya nyaff, ya plook!
Think ah’m zipped up at the back?
Us corbies are daith’s auld freends –
Swippert, coorse an swack!
Then the corbie faither jouked sidelines
An flung the bairn intae the storm.
Jings, he says, the bairns these days!
Noo, ma last flight tae perform.
The wanhowp faither set aff fur the nest.
But this last yin wis sonsie an leal,
Born wi the reek o daith up his neb,
A dour, but sleekit wee chiel.
He shauchled oantae his faither’s rigbane,
Hunkered doon intae his feathers,
Whiles the faither spiered an haivered oan
Aboot auld age an siclike blethers.
The wee corbie says: Faither, yer guid;
Ye’ve taucht me aw that ah need.
But open yer lugs, an tak tent o ma wurds,
Tho ah’m shair they’ll ding her heid.
Naw, ah’ll no mind ye when yer auld;
No dicht yer baffies, or heid!
Ah’ll leave ye alane when daith comes chappin,
Fur ah’ll hae ma ain bairns tae feed.
When yer hoastin an blocherin tae yer grave,
Thowless, no kennin yer ain,
Thir’s nae jeely pieces at ma back door!
Ye’ll leave, no makin a mane.
Yer darg is ower, faither dear.
Gaun sech wi relief!
Fur ah’m a mingin, mawkit scaffie –
Naitur’s herryin thief!
Oan hearin this, the faither smirked,
An landed oan a birkin tree.
Here’s a braw place tae hae yer bairns.
Wee corbies are safe wi ye.
He taucht the bairn tae theek a hoose,
An hoo tae tice a mate;
Shawed him the weave an weft o bouchts;
But said afore takkin the gate:
Farewell, ma bairn, keep yer heid heich –
Yer a corbie through an through
Ye’ve made me a vauntie faither, son!
He skraiked, then aff he flew.Frances Robson
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