Hogmanay (English Version)
Tonight is the night of Hogmanay;
This tired old year cannot now stay.
Upon the hillside stands a lone croft;
The light from its window inviting and soft.
People are gathering to hear the bells;
They’re wishing this year a fond farewell.
It is a time for the giving of special gifts,
Being together and healing old rifts.
At the party, folk dance and sing –
Waiting for the parish bells to ring.
Happy and hopeful is how the folk feel,
As they dance the traditional jigs and reels.
A minute to midnight, Hogmanay is near;
The clock strikes twelve and folk all cheer.
The bells, they ring out one last time;
Folk join hands and sing Auld Lang Syne.
Despite the hour being so late,
For their ‘first-foot’, the revellers wait.
At the door, there soon comes a knock,
And the door from inside is eagerly unlocked.
At the door, stands a man dark and tall –
Wishing a warm greeting to one and all.
To the crofter, he now hands a peat:
A traditional gift, providing some heat.
He also brings whisky – a Scotch single malt,
Some silver, some bread, some coal and some salt.
Coal for warmth, salt for flavour, bread for food,
Silver for wealth, and whisky to lift the mood.
Within the croft, there’s plenty of cheer,
Now that Hogmanay is finally here.
Angela Wybrow's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Hogmanay (English Version) by Angela Wybrow )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
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