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I
sought again my Caithness home - it had to be,
Though worldly cares my thoughts may claim -I think of thee,
Towards the hoose of old grey stone, my footsteps sped,
Inside its walls that warmth again - And there’s the shed.
Yes,
there’s the shed and lying there, it wrung my hairt
A friend o’ mine beyond repair - the ould box cairt.
Why is it time should be so hard - sometimes to kill,
Decay and rust's a poor reward, for human skill.
When
young, that cairt had bonny lines - and polished sheen,
Its timbers, oak and sturdy pines -and painted green.
The axle made of trusty steel, wheels ringed with care,
And hand-made felloes in each wheel – an art so rare.
My
ould loved cairt with worn-out frame – thy day is done,
Your nameplate proudly shows my name – and number one.
Of course I never had two cairts – that’s make-believe,
You held first place in all our hearts – Pride will deceive.
Your
early days make history now – you jogged along,
Your leisured ways would then allow time for a song.
One day with peats, one day with hay – you took the load,
Through marsh and bog you found your way – to firmer road.
Now
all is haste – geared wheels are here – but oft they fail,
Through paths you took they cannot steer – a modern tale,
Thou didst thy work, perhaps slow but sure – no fuss, no din,
In calm, in storm thou didst endure, through thick and thin.
Methinks
there’s something to be said for friends like you,
Solid and steady and home-made, these friends are few.
I’ll think of thee and play my part, through stress and strife,
Ould friends like you, my ould box cairt, are friends for life.
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