Wi respec,
I’ll jist wear my breeks hauf-mastit
an shaw ma spinnle shanks for dule,
noo Leezie’s awa.
I wis nivver ane
for undeservit lairdship
nor pu’in ma fitenin thatch
ower my een nor gaun doon
on bendit knee.
Forbye, the deem’s
hairstit noo intae the kirk
o her ain elders an betters;
she wis a good age an swack
till gey near the en.
Far’s the need, then,
tae gar the lave o’s greet
for mair than the passin
o some ither body’s eildit mither,
some faimly’s miss but nae their ain?
© BH, 2022
The monarchy transitions an the airwaves an the crannies o cyberspace reverberate with inhaudin an deference from another century. You’ll jalouse I’m noaea monarchist, o course, but I dinna mean ony disrespect tae mark another person’s dein.
I’m foonert already wi the orchestrated spate comin at me fae aa sides. I get that mony are saddent, grief-stricken, even, devastatet, mournfu, full o dule. But I hear an agenda ahin’t, conductin fitever personal sorras come oot intae a chorus of directit adulation. I hear distraction; I hear political cynicism; I hear the establishment whisperin.
But, fair’s fair, mony’ll hae a miss an faa’m I tae wheedle? I’m jist myndin. like mony ithers, I expec, on oor ain faa’ve pairted syne. Honest reflection’s a fine thing; it’s the paradin o’t I canna thole.
BTB: The image combines my an mither wi ane o Leezie hersel - filtert wi a mak-on underpintin effect.
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