Lang Sandy (The Heron: Scots) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Lang Sandy stauns on ae shilpit shank
The ither's tucked unner a feather
The rain poors ower Lang Sandy's heid
Bit he disnae heed the weather

He stauns like a statue, his lang sherp beak
Like a sword stukken ontae his face
Till a daft wee bandy sweems alang
Seein naethin amiss in the place

Plunk! He's liftit an tossed up heich
Snap! Doon Lang Sandy's thrapple
An thon's aa the funeral richts he gets
Lang Sandy's wyme's his chapel