Howdie(Scots)

Yon chiel wi the parchment skin, mou like a thin bruise, Fa'd hae thocht he'd worn a Maori Mask, Mendit multi-storey lifts? Daunced tae a Thai's queer pipe? An her in the neuk, the littlin wi tubes in her wyme, Shaved heid an feart-like een, ainns like twa wee spurtles... Gowden butterflees that's prentit on her tights Flee roon her crib at nicht gin she jist wills them. A winnerfu ferlie! I ken because they tell me. I am the howdie. I am the listenin lug Tae the blate, the slichtit, the fleggit, Aa them fa keep their stories deep inbye Like beeriet treisur happit ower wi stoor. I am the story-howdie. My darg's tae ease the birth o ithers' tales, Haudin on praise, hett towels o words, Helpin tae lift the new-born oot, tae skelp life intae't By settin it doon on the page. By screivin it. Oh winnerfu tae hear sic tales takk life, Oh hummlin, tae be hauns-on at the birthin.