Once there lived a Scotsman <br />Whose years nobody knew <br />Who was seen by all in town <br />And known by very few. <br />For men, for loners such as he <br />Were left that way... alone... <br />Scorn and pity and indifference <br />By the townspeople to him was shown. <br /> <br />This Scotsman was nobody <br />None knew from where he came <br />Bar the obvious. from Scotland... <br />Few even knew his name. <br />And the children in the dusty streets <br />Making song of him... the sang <br />For he was also a simple sort <br />Who spoke in Scottish slang. <br /> <br />And all unknowing of him went <br />About their business from day to day <br />None spoke of him when he was not seen <br />Bar the children when at play <br />'Where is Mad Jock, the Scotsman: <br />By this way he has not walked, <br />So we get to mock no more' <br />So of him the children talked. <br /> <br />Some months passed until one day <br />A burgular an open door spied <br />It looked an easy job, he thought <br />As an escape route he eyed. <br />But upon entering the house <br />He did not rob, but instead, <br />Stopped to mouth a silent prayer <br />As he found Mad Jock rotted and dead. <br /> <br />And though long passed to the other side <br />God to love him never ceased <br />To pray for the passing of his mortal soul, <br />God sent the burgular... not the priest. <br />'For God was with him at his end, <br />As through his life' the church bells to ring began... <br />As the cortege passed by the a house... <br />Once there lived a Scotsman.<br /><br />Tomás Ó Cárthaigh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/once-there-dwelt-a-scotsman/
