Poems and Songs

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 theyíre free to gang,

But, man, itís juist predestination.

Free-wull?  Man has it - sae we say.

Itís noí for me to doot the fací;

But as I hirple doun the brae,

Guid kens what wind is at my back!


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