An th' heather's i' blossom all raand,
Makkin th' mornin's cooi! breezes smell sweet,
As they rustle along ovver th' graand.
When aw listen to th' lark as he sings
Far aboon, ommost lost to mi view,
Aw lang for a pair ov his wings,
To fly wi him, an sing like him, too.
When aw sit under th' shade ov a tree,
Wi mi book, or mi pipe, or mi pen,
Aw think them 'at's sooary for me