I Miss My Bonnie Bairn Poem by Alexander Anderson

I miss my bonnie bairn,
I miss him unco sair,
I miss him stan'in' at the door,
I miss him up the stair,
I miss the patter o' his feet
That toddled out an' in,
But O, I miss him warst ava'
When the day's wark is dune.


Then John sits by the fire,
An', though he disna speak,
I ken fu' weel his thocht,
For the tears are on his cheek.
The tears grow big upon his cheek,
An' my ain begin to fa',
As my heart still murmurs on—
Your twa years' bairn's awa'.


An' just yestreen I chanced,
When townin' through the drawer,
To come upon his plaiks liad by,
Their sicht but made me waur.
For there the wee toy-horsie lay
I had tae let him see
An' hour afore death cam' an' took
The licht frae oot his e'e.


Weel, weel, I min' that nicht
His faither brocht it in,
I took it to his wee bedside
An' touch'd him on the chin—
'Come, look up, Jamie, my big man,
An' see this bonnie sicht.'
He raise, an' took it frae my han',
An' O, his e'e was bricht!


Prood was I when I saw that look,
An' John was unco fain;
I keekit in his face, an' speer'd,
What think ye o' the wean?
He'll live an' bless us a', if ance
This tout he warstles through;
For I like the glegness o' his look,
An' the smile about his mou'.


But waes me, or an hour gaed by,
Death hush'd him safe an' soun;
An' a' oor hopes fell ow'r his face,
As winter leaves fa' doon.
But they'll a' grow fresh an' green again,
Tho' noo I've this to learn,
The earth has to me ae dear spot—
The wee grave o' my bairn.