No wonder I am such a fool....
Hoo can I graipple wi’ the thistle syne,
Be intricate as it and up to a’ its moves?
A’ airts its sheenin’ points are loupin’ ’yont me,
Quhile still the firmament it proves.
And syne it’s like a wab in which the warld
Squats like a spider, quhile the mune and me
Are taigled in an endless corner o’t
Tyauvin’ fecklessly....
The wan leafs shak’ atour us like the snaw.