Doric poetry IV

Another week, another Doric poem!

The Roman Sodger by Les Wheeler

I’m a Roman sodger

I’m a Roman soldier

An I dinna like it here;

And I don’t like it here;

I wint awa fae Bennachie

I want away from Bennachie (as close as Aberdeenshire gets to a mountain)

For the Picts are efter me.

For the Picts are after me.

 

The wither is jist fool

The weather is just foul

Nae like aul Rome itsel;

Not like old Rome itself;

Back there we hid the best o wine

Back there we had the best of wine

But here it’s heather ale!

But here it’s heather ale!

 

I’m soakin stannin here on guard

I’m soaking standing here on guard

My cleys is fairly drookit;

My clothes are fairly soaking wet

The waater is richt ower my feet

The water is right over my feet

An the baith o them are sookit!

And the both of them are soaked!

 

“Wir aff up tae the north,”

“We’re off up to the north,”

Oor centurion said wi pride;

Our centurion said with pride;

“We’ll show the Picts a thing or twa!”

“We’ll show the Picts a thing or two!”

But we’ve naewye left tae hide!

But we’ve nowhere left to hide!

 

There’s wild folk fae Insch an Oyne

There’s wild people from Insch and Oyne

Aa pintit in blue woad;

All painted with blue dye;

Weel I’ve jist hin enough o them

Well I’ve just had enough of them

Sae I’m aff doon the road!

So I’m off down the road! (I’m off home)

 

Until next time 🙂

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