The craft that hit upon the reishlin’ stalk,
Wi’ts gausty leafs and a’ its datchie jags,
And spired it syne in seely flooers to brak
Like sudden lauchter owre its fousome rags
Jouks me, sardonic lover, in the routh
O’ contrairies that jostle in this dumfoondrin’ growth.
What strength ’t’ud need to pit its roses oot,
Or double them in number or in size,
He canna tell wha canna plumb the root,
And learn what’s gar’t its present state arise,