Aye, Loni O’Gee was for me a bonnie lass
Who could see past a man's faults
Into the worth of his quivering heart.
She was Scotland herself:
Varied, wild, nurtured, blessed.
Like a man at sea yearning for home,
I longed to be near her:
To know her peace,
To smell her soft skin,
To inhale her moist breath.
On a warm, butterfly day
We found our way to Rothgate,
A tavern worn black with use.
I arrived in the morning.
Loni O’Gee arrived at noon to feast
On potatoes and beef.
While reaching for her pint,
Laughing and joking all around,
She leaned against the bar
And found ways to cheer all,
Both man and beast.
The dog nearby wagged her heavy tail,
So Loni O’Gee tossed the bitch her bread.
“It’s time to go to Annan.”
Riding a grey horse,
I followed her there,
And married her there.
And I thank God daily on my knee
For that fun-loving lass,
That bonnie, bonnie Loni O’Gee.
© Allen Hackworth 2000