A Working Villanelle: And Hold Onto Ye' Precious Bairn Carol Naylor

Walk down the lane my pretty wee lass,
Lift up ye' petticoat as ye' plough through the quagmire,
And hold on to ye' precious bairn as ye' go pass'.
 
Hold up ye' staff as ye' traipse thru' the grass,
Onwards ye' weary wonderers as ye' near the byre.
Walk down the lane my pretty wee lass.
 
Follow the track that rolls thru' the valley, the mass
Of fertile soil, the undulating hills. Try not to tire.
And hold on to ye' precious bairn as ye' go pass'.
 
Ye' wee bairn is deep in slumber as ye' hasten so fas'.
The village is burning, the stacks are on fire.
Walk down the lane my pretty wee lass.
 
Wind ye' way doon to the river like an ocean so vast.
The village is smouldering, the inferno is dire
And hold on to ye' precious bairn as ye' go pass'.
 
Why do ye' falter my bonny wee lass?
Turn back, hie thee away from the funeral pyre.
Haste ye' doon the lane my bonny wee lass
But hold onto ye' precious bairn as ye' go pass'.
 
 
 
COPYRIGHT 2013. PERMISSION MUST BE OBTAINED FROM THE AUTHOR BEFORE USING THIS POEM.


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