As, like a ghinn oot o’ a bottle,
Daith rises frae’s when oor lives crottle.
These are the moments when my sang
Clears its white feet frae oot amang
My broken thocht, and moves as free
As souls frae bodies when they dee.
There’s naething left o’ me ava’
Save a’ I’d hoped micht whiles befa’.
Sic sang to men is little worth.
It has nae message for the earth.