A can see ye frae ma bedroom windae

stapp’t lik a stane tummul’t intae a cleuch

o the Hartree Hills.  The roadman’s cottage

stauns prood an waasht white agin the hillside,

steerin unashamedly owre the toun,

whilst alang the road ye coo’r in yer drab,

unassoomin and botherin naeb’dy,

yer heid weel doon, hopin nane’ll see ye.

An that’s whaur A’m frae, ma mither’s birthplace.

A’ve cam a lang wey sin then, richt eneuch!

Hauf a mile at the maist across the bog,

across girlhood, maidenhood, widaehood,

an ma ain stutterin life, heid weel doon,

tae staun at this windae an look back on’t.