My pow is unco bauld.
I’ve seen the snaws o’ fourscore years
O’er hill and meadow fa’,
And hinnie! were it no’ for you,
I’d gladly slip awa’.
I feel I’m growing auld, gude-wife—
I feel I’m growing auld;
Frae youth to age I’ve keepit warm
The love that ne’er turned cauld.
I canna bear the dreary thocht