It wis a gallus hing,

spurnin tae flee aff as A drave by,

e’en tho A cam wi’in a fuit o’t.

It juist stuid there, rowin

the muckle muscles o its shoothers

ablow the cape o its Aztec cloak,

an haudin the waicht o

the hale warld bae the stem o the stab

it haed sneck’t in its clawtips.

Richt gallus, so it wis.

It peer’t awaa tae the faur deestance

s’if A’s worth scant conseederatioun,

takin in the fluidit

park, the wuidit brae, an the blae hills

ayont wi the scan o’ts godlik ee.

Yet ay it waatch’t me, frae

the glaissy daipth o its lochan look,

wi a slicht o cauld disdain.