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THE SEAWARD TOON
Yer fit wad hae fint a seaward toon
Ne’er biggit by mortal hand,
Wi’ a glimmer an’ lowe fae shinin’ panes,
An’ the stir o’ eident feet,
A’thing hapt in a droosy air
That’s naither cauld nor heat.
Thir’s ane that cries sae clear and sweet
Three names baith kin an’ kind,
Marget, Maud’lin, Lizabeth,
Far ben a quaiet wynd.
Gin ye hadna steekit yer painted door
Ere the licht o’ day was dune,
Ye micht hae hard the Host gang by
Ower this braw Seaward Toon.
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