Poetry

Blae, blae, blae is the dwinin simmer,
Fin craws are a squallich o midnicht i the lift;
The win that knells the aik is an eldritch drummer,
Garrin the fleggit leaves uptail an shift.
Wylin the wing frae cloud, the girse frae dyke,

Autumn's at han, the tarry-fingeret tyke -
The warlock, turnin the widlan reid an rent;
A sairer scythe in his sizzen isna kent.
Cauld, cauld, cauld, he's a worthless wooer -
Preein the bloom frae brae, the hairt frae howe;
Trystin awa the bonnie buskit flooer,
Bird, an berry, an breet frae the ferny knowe.
The screich o his loadit cairt on a pairtin stane -
Sma wis the whyle he bedd, wi the yird his bride;
Forhooied, her days staun dreich, her nichts hing teem,
The lan bled fite, like an auld love cast aside.
Syne, fin the yalla strae be a deid yestreen,
Dwined an dweeble, laigh i the park sae bare,
The oat, the barley-head wi the guid corn taen,
The wanton Autumn's seen i the warld nae mair.