Hast Thou seen her, great Jew,
who art called the One Son of God?
Hast Thou seen on Thy way the like of her
labouring in the distant vineyard?
The load of fruits on her back,
a bitter sweat on brow and cheek,
and the clay basin heavy on the back
of her bent poor wretched head.
Thou hast not seen her, Son of the carpenter,
who art called the King of Glory,
among the rugged western shores
in the sweat of her food’s creel.
This Spring and last Spring
and every twenty Springs from the beginning,
she has carried the cold seaweed
for her children’s food and the castle’s reward.
And every twenty Autumns gone
she has lost the golden summer of her bloom,
and the Black Labour has ploughed the furrow
across the white smoothness of her forehead.
And Thy gentle church has spoken
about the lost state of her miserable soul,
and the unremitting toil has lowered
her body to a black peace in a grave.
And her time has gone like a black sludge
seeping through the thatch of a poor dwelling:
the hard Black Labour was her inheritance;
grey is her sleep tonight.
Och away and raffle the pair o’ ye. Twa braw singers like yersels should be makin’ bonnie music th’gither. In fact..I’ve pinched this fae HMV just for ye baith tae enjoy..
If we could all lose some weight this would surely make more room. I’ve never lived in a country that was populated by bigoted sticks, and wish to experience everything that this wonderful life has to offer.
(it’s actually quite a burden having all the answers you know)
Good points, toybulldog. I’m going to do my bit and not have the fourth pancake :oops: this morning. Do without the whipped cream, too? How about I just use that on Esme? :twisted:
It’s all my fault, Rubester. He was a sweet and innocent boy until he encountered wicked Esme in the men’s lingerie dept. in George at Asda. :roll:
I shall remonstrate with him in best dominatrix fashion. A good tongue lashing followed by the whip! :twisted: