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
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