Dry-stane Dyke
Seen on a grey afternoon in January
As strang winds howl an' pewits cry,
it's staunin' yet, near burn oot-by.
Whaur newts an' grogs maun dwell, I feel,
wi' troot an' divers spawn as weel;
A dry stane dyke.
There 'mang stibble sae lonely-like.
Lookin' aye sich a gran' auld dyke.
'Tween fields furlorn, sae dreich alane
Seems everlastin, solid, the stane
that mak's this dyke.
Here coo'er mony a hare an' stirk,
when blast an' weet greet morn or mirk.
An' hoodie craws kin view the scene
a' day, an' at their leesur', preen,
frae tap o' dyke.
When winter gangs, wild posies will bloom,
in crannies sma; whaure'er there's room.
An' yowes wi' lambs will a ' traip by;
(there micht even be larks in the sky
abune the dyke).
Hoo lang it's stood the test o' time,
is no' fur me tae ponder in rhyme.
'Twis fashioned yince wi muckle pride
an' skill'; aye, an' meant tae bide:
this braw stane dyke.
