On the 20th August 1872 Glasgow poet William Miller died, he was possibly best remembered for his Nursery rhyme Wee Willie Winkie.  I well remember reading this to the girls when they were wee, a first introduction to poetry. It’ll be a lot longer than folks may think.William Miller was also know as ‘The Laureate of the Nursery”

Willie Willie Winkie

Wee Willie Winkie
Rins through the toun,
Up stairs and doun stairs
In his nicht-gown,
Tirling at the window,
Crying at the lock,
“Are the weans in their bed,
For it’s now ten o’clock?

“Hey, Willie Winkie,
Are ye coming ben?
The cat’s singing grey thrums
To the sleeping hen,
The dog’s spelder’d on the floor,
And disna gie a cheep,
But here’s a waukrife laddie
That winna fa’ asleep.”

Onything but sleep, you rogue!
Glow’ring like the moon,
Rattling in an airn jug
Wi’ an airn spoon,
Rumblin’, tumblin’, round about,
Crawing like a cock,
Skirlin’ like a kenna-what,
Wauk’nin’ sleeping folk.

“Hey, Willie Winkie –
The wean’s in a creel!
Wamblin’ aff a body’s knee
Like a very eel,
Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug,
Rav’llin’ a’ her thrums –
Hey, Willie Winkie –
See, there he comes!”

Wearied is the mither
That has a stoorie wean,
A wee stumpie stousie,
That canna rin his lane.
That has a battle aye wi’ sleep,
Before he’ll close an e’e –
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips
Gies strength anew to me.