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THE WONDERFU' WEAN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Our wean's the most wonderfu' wean e'er I saw
Last Line: How he cheers up their hearts -- he's the wonderfu' wean.
Alternate Author Name(s): Laureate Of The Nursery
Subject(s): Friendship


OUR wean's the most wonderfu' wean e'er I saw,
It would tak' me a lang summer day to tell a'
His pranks, frae the morning till nicht shuts his e'e,
When he sleeps like a peerie, 'tween faither and me.
For in his quate turns, siccan questions he'll speir:
How the moon can stick up in the sky that's sae clear?
What gars the wind blaw? and wharfrae comes the rain?
He's a perfect divert: he's a wonderfu' wean.

Or wha was the first body's faither? and wha
Made the very first snaw-shower that ever did fa?
And wha made the first bird that sang on a tree?
And the water that sooms a' the ships on the sea? --
But after I've tell't him as weel as I ken,
Again he begins wi' his "Wha?" and his "When?"
And he looks aye sae watchfu' the while I explain, --
He's as auld as the hills -- he's an auld-farrant wean.

And folk wha ha'e skill o' the bumps o' the head
Hint there's mae ways than toiling o' winning ane's bread;
How he'll be a rich man, and ha'e men to work for him,
Wi' a kyte like a bailie's, shug-shugging afore him,
With a face like the moon, sober, sonsy, and douce,
And a back, for its breadth, like the side o' a house.
'Tweel, I'm unco ta'en up wi't, they mak' a' sae plain --
He's just a town's talk -- he's a by-ord'nar wean!

I ne'er can forget sic a laugh as I gat,
When I saw him put on faither's waistcoat and hat;
Then the lang-leggit boots gaed sae far owre his knees,
The tap loops wi' his fingers he grippit wi' ease. [ben,
Then he march'd through the house -- he march'd but, he march'd
Sae like mony mae o' our great little men,
That I laugh'd clean outright, for I couldna contain,
He was sic a conceit -- sic an ancient-like wean.

But 'mid a' his daffin' sic kindness he shows,
That he's dear to my heart as the dew to the rose;
And the unclouded hinnie-beam aye in his e'e
Mak's him every day dearer and dearer to me.
Though fortune be saucy, and dorty, and dour,
And glooms through her fingers, like hills through a shower,
When bodies hae got a bit bairn o' their ain,
How he cheers up their hearts -- he's the wonderfu' wean.





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