The Tree o Life
Through sna an sun the spurgies cheep.
Hame-haudin birds their flicht is sma
An ay a cheery ootluik keep,
Their plain concerns a watergaw.

Wing heicher up the Tree o Life
The corbie, wi far-seein een,
Whas hams are honed — a kittle knife,
Craws on the derk side o the meen.

The spurgie's thochts are brisk an wee,
Wi as its tribe in unison:
The corbie, wi its bitter dree,
Micht haud sic thochts a benison.


The Creation
Gin God hid been a scientist
Whit wid ye be? Whit wid ye be?
A tippeny toot o a roosty can,
Sib tae the bomb, an the fryin pan,
Gin God hid been a scientist
Steerin the cosmic bree.

Bit yer bluid's a linn,
An yer moo's the dew.
Wi a heid whaur thochts,
Like the troots, sweem through.

Yer hairt's a loch, an yer soul's the starns,
Ye've grace, an symmetry, tapped wi harns.
Sae aren't ye gled, frae the verra start,
God, the Creator, wis guid at Art?