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Autumn
Thocht
The
wind blaws steady from the West
Athort
the hill and through the trees
And
doun the road come hirplin past
The
withered leaves in twas and threes
Jostlin
and whisperin alang
They
haud their reeshlin conversation,
Jalousin
that they’re free to gang,
But,
man, it’s juist predestination.
Free-wull?
Man has it - sae we say.
It’s
no’ for me to doot the fac’;
But
as I hirple doun the brae,
Guid
kens what wind is at my back!
1960 |