by dcvr » Tue Jul 05, 2005 6:53 pm
It wouldn't be Contentment by W.D. Cocker? (Courtesy of google):
The hoose is a' quate, an' the weans are in bed;
Jean sits by the fire wi' her needle an' thread;
Sae thrang wi' a thim'le that seldom she speaks;
She's patchin' a hole in oor wee Bobbie's breeks.
An' as she sits shooin' she gies a bit smile;
"What's this in his pooches?" she says in a while;
"Juist rype them an' see, lass," says I for a splore,
An' oot on the table comes wee Bobbies store.
A fankled bit string, then a plunker an' glassie;
Wi' ane or two bools an' the heid o' a brassie;
The warks o' a watch that has gane tapsalteerie,
A pirn he had whittled to mak him a peerie;
A wee tait o' putty, a sooker, a sling,
A knife wi'oot blades, an' a puckle mair string,
A wee bit slate pencil, an', oh! the sly loon,
The crust o' a piece that was hard to get doon.
We pit them a' back, an' I lauch to his mither;
"What's treasure to ane may be trash to anither;
An' to us the possessions the pridefu man seeks
Are like trash in the pooches o' wee Bobbies breeks."