Donegal Ulster Scots

For the day that’s in it…

Wee Hughie

He’s gaen tae schuil, wee Hughie,
An him no fouwer.
Shuir A saa the fricht wis in him,
Whan he left the deur.

But he tuik a haund o Denny
An a haund o Dan,
Wi Joes auld coat upon him –
Och, the puir wee maun!

He cut the quaerest feigur,
Mair stout nor thin;
An trottan richten steadie
Wi his taes turnt in.

A watcht him tae the corner
O the big turf stak,
An themair his feet went forrit,
Still his heid turnt bak.

He wis leukan, wad A caa him –
Och ma hairt wis wae –
Shuir it’s losst A am athout him,
But he buid tae gae.

A follaed tae the turnin
Whan thay past it aa,
Goad help him, he wis cryan,
An, mebbes, sae wis A.

Original: Elizabeth McShane

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