Fish-child

I caught a fish as big as a bairn
On my fiercely knotted twine
With a strangely narrow grin
And gold and murrey shingles
On his crooked skin
We named him Wolseley Wollstonecraft 
(Or Little Wol for short)
Mother found a kilt to wrap him in
While he sang of seas like deserts
Shone glamours on the ceiling 
Of the church of Kirkcudbright 
Where we took him to the market
To buy a tansy crown
Arbuthnot offered sixpence
For a half a pound
He’s our bonny skirling lad
A prince of seas renowned
We’ll not be having less than
A mutchkin for a stane 
Mam though in thee I did abide
You’ll not sell my fish-child’s song
We fled all through the lowering town
The crowd an angry gathered throng
And from high the heather and tansy crag
Fell ere far and long
Little Wol away to swim
And I alas the river Dee to drown

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