A PAISLEY GHOST  written by Robert D Mc Lean:

A PAISLEY GHOST
Wee! noo, Ah’m a ghost, aye, Ah’m deid,
Juist wan’ered oot fae auld Hawkheid,
That cemetery sae drab an’ drear,
Ah’ve lain there fur mony a year.
‘Neath that cauld clay and chucky stanes,
There lies ma wee bit heap o’ banes.
That coffm, tae, is gey sair din,
An’ that big brass plate wis only tin!
But wha am Ah tae sae complain,
Fur eftir a’ Ah’m no’ ma lane.
There’s coontless hunners lie aroon,
Deep in sleep wi’oot a soon’!
Tae patiently await the morn,
When Gabriel blaws his golden horn.
But this night Ah’m gaun tae dauner doon
An’ see yince mair auld Paisley Toon.
That place o’ mine that sae inspires,
Wi’ bonnie lassies an’ auld kirk spires.
An’ workers wha yince walked tall,
The weavers o’ the Paisley Shawl,
But man it’s gran’ tae break auld Nature’s laws,
Juist tae walk through big stane wa’s,
An’ keek at mortals at work an’ play,
An’ see the kind an’ cruel things they dae.
But here, whit’s that Ah see,
Beside that auld and gnarled tree,
It’s but a lass an’ lad nae less,
A wenchin’ couple Ah confess.
But, a help ma Boab, they mak’ me smile,
By here they’re fairly gaun their mile!
Ah weel when passion erupts in the mortal frame,
Whiles causes grief an’ awfu’ shame,
How stolen pleasures, oftimes sweet,
Can oftimes cause folk quite a greet.
But Ah cannae staun’ a’ night an’ blether,
Sae Ah’ll leave the lovin’ pair thegither,
Happily tae let them spoon,
While Ah speed on tae Paisley Toon.
An’ noo Ah’m on the Hawkheid Road,
A place, when young, Ah’ve oftimes trod,
An’ mony a time Ah’ve wan’ered roon,
Wi’ a weaver lass fae Paisley Toon.
Noo Ah’ll gae doon tae the Abbey close
An’ dauner o’er tae Paisley Cross,
Noo look at that place sac fine an’ braw,
That buildin’ o the auld Toon Ha’,
An’ listen tae the auld clock chime,
As it tells the Paisley folk the time,
On that auld bridge Ah’ve often stood,
Et Hogmanay, wi’ a happy crood,
An’ waited fur the bells tae ring
That sterted a’ the folks tae sing.
Wi’ joyous shreiks an’ haufs between,
Ah’v never seen a happier scene.
But Ah’ll gang ower tae Gilmour Street,
An’ whit Ah seen wid mak’ ye greet.
Whit vandals, stupid and sac vile,
Huv knocked doon the Paisley jile!
But there’s a place Ah want tae see,
The auld dock at the Paisley Quay,
Whaur Warnock’s boats come in tae lan’,
Their loads o’ salt an’ loads o’ sand.
Noo Ah’ll awa’ tae the Coffin’ En’,
Tae a gran’ wee pub Ah did attend.
Fae dismal darkness tae early night,
Whaur West En’ weavers had a night,
Wi’ sangs an’ stories, lewd an’ lush,
Yins that wid mak’ a sailor blush!
An’ noo ma time is gettin’ short,
Sac noo ma tour Ah wull abort,
Sac tae a place Ah haud wi’ pride,
Shuttle Street, whaur Ah used tae bide.
An’ that wee cottage, noo sac bare,
An’ whaur there wis such love an’ care,
An’ noo Ah’ll huv tae leave this lan’,
Tae hasten back afore the dawn,
An’ noo Ah’ll ha’e tae gang wi’ speed,
Aye, back again tae auld Hawkheid.
Oh whit a dreary place tae be,
Whaur they dump ye when ye dee.
An’ Gabriel, an’ ye but could,
Oh wid ye blaw yer trumpet lood,
Tae wake us folk tae rise again,
Tae that place whaur there is nae pain.
An’ whaur there is nae greed nur sin,
An Thatcher’s tories wull no’ get in.