Near Mairtimas the lowerin lift
Is blae's the breistie o a doo
That rochles in the shargeret wid
Far thrissledown wauchts by like oo

Crammosie, yalla, tod-reid-broon
The lowsin leaves yark aff the bough
Takk flicht an flee, like chitterin birds
That brak frae birktaps, roon the howe.

The burns rin swack, like rowth o troot
Cauld, lowpin waves atween the trees
October wi its burnin brand
Has touched an kinnelt tae a bleeze

An ilkie breet maun theek its reef
An hap its heid afore the win
That scythes the bracken on the brae
Tummles the strae, an shakks the whin.

There's lear ye dinna larn in buiks
Nae leevin thing can thole blin smore
Coorse Winter fuspers frae the neuks
“The warld is deein. Snib yer door.”