George MacDonald

(10 December 1824 – 18 September 1905 / Huntly, Aberdeenshire, Scotland)

Granny Canty - Poem by George MacDonald

'What maks ye sae canty, granny dear?
Has some kin' body been for ye to speir?
Ye luik as smilin an' fain an' willin
As gien ye had fun a bonny shillin!'

'Ye think I luik canty, my bonny man,
Sittin watchin the last o' the sun sae gran'?
Weel, an' I'm thinkin ye're no that wrang,
For 'deed i' my hert there's a wordless sang!

'Ken ye the meanin o'
, my dow?
It's bein i' the humour o' singin, I trow!
An' though nae sang ever crosses my lips
I'm aye like to sing whan anither sun dips.

'For the time, wee laddie, the time grows lang
Sin' I saw the man wha's sicht was my sang-
Yer gran'father, that's-an' the sun's last glim
Says aye to me, 'Lass, ye're a mile nearer him!

'For he's hame afore me, an' lang's the road!
He fain at my side wud hae timed his plod,
But, eh, he was sent for, an' hurried awa!
Noo, I'm thinkin he's harkin to hear my fit-fa'.'

'But, grannie, yer face is sae lirkit an' thin,
Wi' a doun-luikin nose an' an up-luikin chin,
An' a mou clumpit up oot o' sicht atween,
Like the witherin half o' an auld weary mune!'

'Hoot, laddie, ye needna glower yersel blin'!
The body 'at loos, sees far throu the skin;
An', believe me or no, the hoor's comin amain
Whan ugly auld fowk 'ill be bonny again.

'For there is
-an' it's no my dear man,
Though I loo him as nane but a wife's hert can-
The joy o' beholdin wha's gran' lovely face
Til mak me like him in a' 'at's ca'd grace.

'But what I am like I carena a strae
Sae lang as I'm
, an' what
wud hae!
Be ye a guid man, John, an' ae day ye'll ken
What maks granny canty yont four score an' ten.'

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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 9, 2010

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