The Burryman Poem

In Midlothian where hearts run high amidst uncertain August warmth,

they travel soon from far and wide to laugh and blot their copybooks.

It’s time to change the kegs for sure and light a welcome flame here,

come Jennifer and Joseph’s brood the cloaked man draws nigh.

With burdock wrap and floral stave hark to this ferry fair,

he seeks your evils to collect, your ale to quench a thirst.


Whilst children hide their countenance none heed his blackened gaze,

for every year the burrs do tear cut deep in sacrifice.

So draw your nibs across the page and write of happy mirth some,

in coloured inks scratch hurriedly and do the bloody work.


© Graham Sherwood 8/2009