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My Ancestors

 A barefoot boy I went to school
 To save a cobbler's fee,
For though the porridge pot was full
 A frugal folk were we;
We baked our bannocks, spun our wool,
 And counted each bawbee.
We reft our living from the soil, And I was shieling bred; My father's hands were warped with toil, And crooked with grace he said.
My mother made the kettle boil As spinning wheel she fed.
My granny smoked a pipe of clay, And yammered of her youth; The hairs upon her chin were grey, She had a single tooth; Her mutch was grimed, I grieve to say, For I would speak the truth.
You of your ancestry may boast,-- Well, here I brag of mine; For if there is a heaven host I hope they'll be in line: My dad with collie at his heel In plaid of tartan stripe; My mammie with her spinning wheel, My granny with her pipe.

by Robert William Service
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