Some of you may remember our poem competition from last year in celebration of our favourite lyricist here in Scotland, Rabbie Burns! We asked you to write a poem inspired by your babywearing moments. It was such a success that we’ve decided to run it again this year.
You can find out how to enter on our Facebook Page here. If you would like some inspiration, you can see the winning poem from last year by Jillyan Graham and the wonderful runners up by Amy Quinn & Katie Gilbert below.
2015 Winning Poem by Jilyan Graham
When daring toddlers find their feet,
And reminiscing parents begin tae greet,
As baby-wearing days are wearing late,
And folk begin tae accept their fate,
While we begin tae ditch the nappy,
An’ running a’roond makes the bairns happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The babies carried o’er burns and stiles,
Instead we think a boot oor hame,
And all the stramash o’ the wrapping game,
O’ those slings and wraps noo gathering dust,
O’ those times when in Oscha we did place oor trust.
We’ll ne’er forget those bonnie blends,
The speed and whirl o’ bagging new trends,
The starry nichts, okinamis and braids,
Caledonias in monie a shade,
The fight o’er the next new rose,
And the latest foray into throws,
But what we musn’t and cannae forget,
Is all the warmth and snuggles we get,
As you tell your bairn to courie doon,
And into their ears you softly croon,
For this is the carrying lore,
This is why we have the wraps we adore.
Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Ilk man and mither, take heed:
Whene’er to carry you are inclin’d,
Or Oscha slings rin in your mind,
Remember the pretties,
the groups and the haver,
But remember the snuggles ye had forever.
Address to Oscha, Katie – Runner Up
Fair fa’ yer honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the bairnwearin’ race,
Abin them aw ye tak yer place,
Yer wraps are heaven,
Weel are ye worth o a grace,
As lang’s a 7.
The groanin’ sling drawer there ye fill,
Yer patterns feature waves an’ hill,
Yer scraps wad help tae mend and frill,
In time o need,
While in yer blends we find our thrill,
In yarn an’ threed.
Ye powers wa mak the bairns yer care,
An’ wrap them up in bosies rare,
Auld Scotland wants nae flimsy ware,
That sags in passes,
But if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her, an Oscha.
Amy Quinn – Runner Up
Coorie doon in tha sling, ye bonnie wee thing,
I’ll no burn the supper,
n’ ah kin chase efter yer brother,
cause yer sqished in like a haggis,
yer mammies hauns free,
She’ll maby even manage ta mak a wee cup o’ tea