A Scot A poet And a Man

This Gentleman was truly a great Scot and Poet.
He was born in Ayrshire in Scotland, in 1865 and died in Hamilton
Scotland in 1918.
Many of you will not remember or even know him, He spent his life as Husband, and a School-master writing poems.
School children for over a century have been taught his poetry, and were required to learn it by heart and repeat it aloud to the rest of their class.
Please let me jog your memory or introduce you to a talent by repeating one of his poems.

The Sair Finger.

You've hurt your finger? puir wee man!
Your Pinkie? Deary me!
Noo, juist you haud it that wey till
I get my specs and see!

My,so it is-and there's the skelf!
Noo dinna greet nae mair.
See there-my needle's gotten't out!
I'm sure that wasna sair?

And noo,to make it hale the morn,
Put on a wee bit saw,
And tie a Bonnie hankie roun't
Noo, there na-rin awa!

Your finger sair ana? Ye Rogue,
You're only letting on.
Weel,weel, then-see noo, there ye are,
Row'd up the same as John.

this may help!

Skelf: is a splinter of wood.
Saw:   is a salve.
row'd up: is wrapped up.


I heard this poetry repeated in a Bush Pub in Queensland Australia, by a Scot who remembered it from his school-days, he must have thought it was time to give us rough Aussies a bit of culture, In a bush pub! oh yes; you could hear a pin drop, I made a point of scribbling the name down and have only just got around to researching it.
Hope you enjoyed it.

Agman.