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The Poor Auld Maid 
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 apr00