A wis pechin an pantin bae the time

A tummled oan tae the tap o the hill;

sae A’d nae braith left fur the sicht tae tak

awaa.  A juist stuid there, haudin a stab

o the fence, while ma lungs tried tae sook some

sap frae the cauld dry air that seep’t atween

the trees, tae damp the knockin in ma heid.

A wis fair puggled, sae A wis; deid dune.

Sae it wis oot the coarner o ma ee,

juist, that A saw the hills ayont Coulter

loup lik dolphins owre the waves o the land

wi the glaister o sunlicht oan their backs,

an the brave blue skies keekin at thaim thro

the cloods an clap-clappin their hauns wi glee.

It wis a gledsome sicht, richt eneuch.  A

mind it weel, e'en tho A wis in nae fit

state tae ’preeciate it then, that sair pressed

A wis juist tae draw braith.  But in't that the

wey, hoo the hings ye haurlie tak tent o

at the time, the unco hings, can get sneck’t

in the faulds o yer mem’ry, an fester

there lik a corm afore comin tae floo’r?

Aince A’d got ma wind back, A birl’t tae see

some snawdraps chappin their wee green beaks thro

the shell o the earth.  An A mind thinkin

hoo some chiel maun hae plantit thaim lang syne

in the mem’ry o the hill, juist so’s that

some’dy lik masel micht ane day spy thaim.