Winter's aye onding
thirlit tae a cauld north land
heizin ilk watter in the geal
o a fushionless dreid.
Like fowk, the watter aye wants
awa frae the wather.
Turnin sooth wi the wunds frae
the north.
Blattern swaws on the strand o
fremmit pairts.
An yit;
In the deeps o the ersless glaur
a wee thing trauchles
winna gae sooth.
A puddock wi a saltire in its
heid
raxxes itsel an pous for the
tap.
Howp is no deid
for it lowes, ay it sings
een in the deid o winter's grup.
"Gae on puddock, tak a loup."
