For the folk of Muick, Gairn and Tullich

In the queer half-licht o' gloamin,
The dreich win hauds its braith,
It's then that fowk walk wary,
An the birk stauns still as daith.

In the queer half-licht o' gloamin
I watched, frae the open door,
A bairn at play, b' a ruck foun,
In the weety, wintry smore.

An roon an roon the rugged rucks
As iver a rascal ran,
Played "teet-bo-Geordie", as her
An "catch-me-gin-ye-can."

“Dis naebody cam, tae cry ye in,
That ye keep ootby sae late?
Chasin the win, like a tinkler's quine
Sae queerly, an sae quate?"

"My hame's as far as Paradise,
An there, the sna faas free,
The hills an howes are fite's a rose
 The burns rin ebony.
An coorse the day, an curst the hour
I left yon high country."

In the queer half-licht o' gloamin
The nicht wis a wattery meen,
Naething alow, bit the bare, braid parks
Masel: the bairn I'd seen.