Hill-girt; the storm's stramash:
A hoolet's myowt. The skelp o rain
Dancin a hoolichan on the fairm pane.

Kerfuffled bed claes, bairns whisperin:
"Gin the morn's fine, we gaither peat."
Tongues quate, een steeked,
Twa corbies drappin intil sleep.

Sheets wallop on the line;
The yalla cream
Sweels ower parridge bowls
O yoamin steam.
The kitchie birrs wi steer,
I shak a blearie heid,
A latchy fit, jeels on the lino fleer.

Amber hinney's clapped on buttered breid,
Bowf-bowfin rins the tyke,
A hotterin tractor dauchles b' the dyke
Set fur a track as auld's the hills o Birse
Far hardy heather connachs dweeble girse.

A weel stocked library,
The peats are haundit doon,
Sun-biggit histories
O tangy, leather'd, broon
Commas o heather reet on ilkie page,
A grummlin grouse gaes gallivantin roon
Pluffin his wings wi rage.

Threidbare in patches,
The braidclaith o the hill.
We cairry, cairt, an stack,
Liftin the warmth in swatches
Frae her back.

Hyne an awa the slender lum-rik risin,
The fairm-fire waitin on the reid horizon.