Deveron days

I ken’t. There’s naething. Nae ae wird
It’s a’ been said lang syne—
Dazed, ooled, I stoiter to the door
An’ watch the starnies shine,
Owre muir an’ moss, owre hill an’ howe,
Owre a’ the reekin’ lums,
Till fae the glen’s still heart to mine
Swift, sweet, a solace comes,
An’ dirlin’ through my auld grey pow,
My dool to gledness turns,
For noo I ken there’s something yet
We a’ can dee for Burns.
It’s this: To keep the wealth he gae’s,
The tongue that’s a’ oor ain.
Fat though a witless world misca’s—
Oh, owre, an’ owre again—
Let:s tryst upon oor lea-rigs yet,
Let’s sped oor banks an’ braes,
An’, till the farthest sun has set,
Sing on oor “Scots wha hae’s”.
Let’s ne’er forget “A Man’s a Man ”
Thrills earth fae sea to sea—
The Magna Charta Scotland gave
To a’ humanity.
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