I remember a place in Dilworth,
not by familiar name.
Sitting at a table
soaking from the rain.
A fire in it's place.
A window, a friendly face.
I sat and watched the passers fight their brollies,
on shiny blacken streets.
A hornpipe or reel from the corner.
I tapped my finger to join her.
A pint and a dram
to warm my heart,
on a lonesome far away.
I lift my glass, "Slainte!"
Shake my troubles at the door.
"God Bless Ye, All, in this house,
on this dull and dreary day!"
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