David

For the Rev David Ogston, 1947-2008

Bard an meenister in ane
Straicht the furra that he trod
May his ghaistly fitsteps climm
Jacob’s laidder, tae his God.

Douce, he wis, a scholar chiel
Leaf frae a stinch Buchan tree
Autumn’s wyled him frae the lave
Tae his earned Epiphany.

Heiven, yer servant’s at the yett
Tinker, Tailor, Sodjer, Spy
He made time fur Onyman
Lichtly, let the grave mools lie.

Sheena Blackhall

This poem first appeared in Lallans and is reproduced here with the permission of the author and editors.