The timmer-heided tree,
Dis it consider the skirp o growth,
The Adam bud o its reet?
Raxxed till the complexity o a twig;
Dis it fear the, rot that hungers fur its fa?
An wid it murn, aince yearly,
The sma birds o its leaves
Wingin awa?

The watter, big wi spate
Dis it consider the sky?
That shaks it doon the antrin wave
Or in fierce heicht o simmer
Drains it dry?

Or is it anely man
Wha in his Autumn, finds that Spring
May rise tae haunt him, o a suddenty
Wha's thochts, like leaves, may turn
Frae green tae broon
Wi sic a surety
It dings him doon,
An shaks his verra bein
Tae its foun?