Commentary on David Harbisons poem “Ma Ain Native Toun”
Aye, in your time you seen it
Disappear, bit by bit by bit
Business comes not out of the grit
And efforts of labours spent
Or what resources we commit
To what afore us went.
Aye, capitalism is its name
Money and more is its aim
And we the worker: pawns in its game
Of economic chess
And capitalism knows little shame
And of loyalty knows even less.
Loyal not to republic or king
To any anthem of a land a man does sing
Its own end is the only thing
By which it is impressed
Patriotism? away Capitalism does fling
With unbridled zest.
Your own native town, like mine too
Better times in the past both knew
There was lots of work to do
For men like us
And worries we had but few
And little fuss.
But now we march to the beat
And in time we move our feet
As we struggle beneath
The masters yoke
Who with sullen eyes we meet
Friendly words seldom spoke.
What must it be like, free to have been
Trade with honest merchants who were not mean
And among such people to live between
Who lived by Gods word
Like us destroyed by machine
That made honesty a thing absurd.