Entire, in thistle-shape, as planned,
And no’ hauf-hidden and hauf-seen as here
In munelicht, whisky, and in fleshly fear,
In fear to look owre closely at
The grisly form in which I’m caught,
In sic a reelin’ and imperfect licht
Sprung frae incongruous elements the nicht!
But wer’t by thou they were shone on,
Then wad I ha’e nae dreid to con
The ugsome problems shapin’ in my soul,