William Miller ( )

Willie Winkie

Wee Willie Winkie
    Rins through the toun,
Up stairs and doun stairs
    In his nicht-gown,
Tirling at the window,
    Crying at the lock,
Are the weans in their bed,
    For its now ten oclock?
Hey, Willie Winkie,
    Are ye coming ben?
The cats singing grey thrums
    To the sleeping hen,
The dogs spelderd on the floor,
    And disna gie a cheep,
But heres a waukrife laddie
    That winna fa asleep.

Onything but sleep, you rogue!
    Glowring like the moon,
Rattling in an airn jug
    Wi an airn spoon,
Rumblin, tumblin, round about,
    Crawing like a cock,
Skirlin like a kenna-what,
    Wauknin sleeping folk.

Hey, Willie Winkie 
    The weans in a creel!
Wamblin aff a bodys knee
    Like a very eel,
Ruggin at the cats lug,
    Ravllin a her thrums 
Hey, Willie Winkie 
    See, there he comes!

Wearied is the mither
    That has a stoorie wean,
A wee stumpie stousie,
    That canna rin his lane.
That has a battle aye wi sleep,
    Before hell close an ee 
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips
    Gies strength anew to me.

William Miller's other poems:
  1. Gree, Bairnies, Gree

 . Poem to print (Print)

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