At the leibrarie

by Hamish Scott

A wale twa beuks tae hae a read
an tae an oot-the-gate wee neuk
A like tae think ma ain wee bit,
A like tae gae wi twa-three beuks

Tae whar a windae sits abuin
a widden table an a seat,
an whar a radiator nar
on days lik this fair ootpits heat

A win the table, on it pit
the beuks A’m gaun tae gie a deek,
pou back the seat, plunk doun, sit in,
an by the radiator beek

A than leuk ower the windae whar
a scaffie soops deid leafs in heaps;
syne, pits thaim in his scaffie-cairt
whar kiver’d unner lids he keeps

A mynd again thon auld newsreel
o Bergen-Belsen efter freed:
parteiclar whar the fillum shaws
the umwhile gairds gart redd the deid

Thaim liftin ilk deid rickle thare
an on thair hurlie-barraes pile;
syne, pittin in a muckle graff
an kiverin thaim aa wi sile

An syne A turn ma een awa,
tae that at fills this biggin leuks,
an sees deid leafs furthsetter fowk
haes hudged thegither intae beuks

The muckle feck’s bi fowk that’s deid,
the lave is near the same forby
In here thair lifes haes fan an en:
as ilka stane-dum beuk thai ly

Thaim pat in here bi leibrie fowk,
athin thir waas, ablo this ruif:
A’m in a graff, a muckle graff,
wi aa this deid - an me that nuif