"Runkled" is the Scots form of "wrinkled," and Elliot deploys it alongside "lyart" to paint a stark portrait of the ageing survivors. The word suggests not just time's passage but the weathering effect of manual labour and grief. In Scots verse, such descriptive terms are valued for their tactile, concrete quality, avoiding abstract euphemism. The image of wrinkled hands that once bound sheaves now bound by sorrow reinforces the theme of a generation forced to outlive its children. The word's guttural 'r' and clipped ending give it a harsh, unromantic quality, fitting the poem's refusal to soften the realities of post-war desolation.

"Runkled" is the Scots form of "wrinkled," and its use in poetry often conveys not just physical ageing but the wear and tear of hard labour, grief, and survival. The word's guttural 'r' and clipped ending give it a rough, unromantic quality that suits its association with the weathered faces of rural workers. In Elliot's "A Lament for Flodden," "lyart, and runkled, and grey" creates a dense, alliterative cluster of words describing the aged survivors, whose wrinkled skin testifies to lives of labour and, now, of sorrow. For poetry students, "runkled" offers a lesson in how Scots vocabulary often favours concrete, tactile description over abstract generalisation. The word appears in various Scots poems and is related to the Old English "wrunkel" and the German "Runzel." Its use often carries a poignant quality, particularly when contrasted with smooth, youthful skin, as in Allan Ramsay's "unrunkled deep." In teaching, encouraging students to consider the physicality of Scots vocabulary—how words like "runkled," "lyart," and "cauld" create a world of tangible, sensory detail—can help them appreciate the visceral quality of Scots poetry and its ability to make abstract grief feel immediate and real.