POEM: 'The Bee and the Stane' by Poet David Cunningham, recited by Sam Fletcher скачать в хорошем качестве

POEM: 'The Bee and the Stane' by Poet David Cunningham, recited by Sam Fletcher

A poem in Donegal Ulster Scots by little known poet David Cunningham from Ballybofey, County Donegal. Recited by local history and literature enthusiast, Sam Fletcher. Sam is a former member of East Donegal Ulster Scots and current member of Donegal Historical Society. David Cunningham wrote a selection of poems between 1932 and 1952. Many of his works appeared in journals and anthologies on both sides of the Atlantic. THE BEE AND THE STANE An day a bee and an auld, grey stane Foregaithered in a country lane, The bee sat doon to hae a chat And a wee bit crack on this and that. Then, on a sudden. Stane, says he, Come aff an' see the wand wi' me, Na, na, no' me the stane replied, I'm a' richt here an' here I'll bide, Gin I gang air an' pitch an' toss I'll no can gaither ony moss. Weel, suit yersel', replied the bee, But honey's guid enough for me, Gin I bide here I'll no get ony, . Hame-keepin' bees can't gaither honey, Sae bide at hame an' keep yer moss, Gin I get nane its nae great loss; An' aff he gaed the warld ower An' dipped his neb in ilka flower. The months gaed by as gang they will, The bee o' wandénin' had his fill An' syne he dandhered doon the lane To see his friend the auld grey stane. Weel stane, says, he, how's a' wi' you? When I gaed aff ye lookit blue, An' now, gin I can trust my een, Ye're a' spruced tip an' dressed in green. I'm nae sae bad, replied the stane, An' glad I bided here my lane, I aye wrocht on the same auld way An' gaithered moss baith nicht an' day, It's guid when ane is growin' auld To lie weel happit frae the cauld. But man alive, exclaimed the bee, Because ye didna' come wi' me, Just think on a' the things you've missed, The sichts I've seen, the flowers: I've kissed The fields an' hills an' honeyed smells An' swings on bonny heather bells. Ou aye, said stane a' that may be, But what suits you micht no' suit me, An' now, it seems, we're baith content, I that I stayed, you that you went.