For A.J. Blackball, World Barley Champion

Set doon
Wi the wecht o years at his back,
A sklyter o yird flung ben,
As a last fareweel.
The mourners staun like hoodie craws
Ower near the mou o the grave for comfort,
Dark an cweel.

Syne, for a pairtin thocht, Say only this —
A guid man gone.
A sair miss.