THE WATTER-SCRIEVER Poem by Guido Gezelle

O croinklie crowlie watter-thingie,
croont wi beret sae bleck,
It's gret yer wee heid's ay sae springie
as ye scrieve tae sick effeck!
Ye leeve an ye muive and ye gang sae swith,
though wi fient an erm or leg;
ye birl wi sick an eident pith,
though without an ee - whit a geg!
Whit wiz ye, whit wur ye, whit'll ye be?
Wull ye no spell it oot, ma dear?
Wi yer braw wee skinklin heid ajee,
whit maks ye scrieve an steir?
Ye traivel owre the glessy watter
wi nae mair runkle therr
nor whit a fuff o win micht shatter,
ye pitter-patterer!
O scrievers, scrievers, spik tae me then,
twinty o ye, nae doot,
tell me, wan o ye, jist wan ye ken,
what scrievers ur scrievin aboot?
Ye scrieve, an the watter losses it,
ye scrieve sae gleg, an it's gane;
nae Christian comes up an endosses it:
och scriever, ye tell me nane!
Ye scrieve aboot wee fush, zat it?
Ye're a scriever o the sproats?
Scrieve stanes, leafs, flooers, ye'er at it?
Scrieve whaur yer boady floats?
Scrieve burds that chirm an cheep an peep,
or the bew that's owre awthing
ablow, abune leaming sae deep -
or is it yersel ye're scrieving?
An the croinkie crowlie watter-thingie
croont wi beret sae bleck
heezed up its lugs wi a braw flingie
an pit its birl oan the sneck:
‘We're scrievin,' it sayed, ‘in oor croinklie way,
whitever oor Maister telt us,
oor maker, oor dominie, tae scrieve an tae say,
the wan bit lear he selt us:
we scrieve, an kin je no jaloose,
or ur ye thick as a brod?
We scrievem re-scrieve, scrieve richt roose
The haly name o God!'