The Poor Auld Maid
In a lonely garret an auld maid sat
Wi' her candle burning dim;
While stretched at her feet lay an auld tam cat
As grey as Methusalem.
The wintry winds they ravage and roar
The trees they crack and mourn,
While this poor maid stretched oot on the floor
And sang in a dolorous ton:
No gentle tap ever comes tae my door
Nor a kindly hand to caress,
Nor ever a footstep crosses me door
Tae lighten me loneliness.
The time passes by with the clock's dull tick
And the wearisome purr of the cat
It seems I've lived since the Ark came down
On the top of Mount Ararat.
My cheeks are growing grizzled and my hair's turning grey
And the sight of my eyes nearly spent;
And my chance of getting wed it's as far, far away
As the stars in the firmament.
Come all you that cling to your true-lover's arms
Take warning by what I have said,
For the lone-somest life in a' this world
Is the life of a poor auld maid.
From Folksongs of Britain and Ireland, Kennedy