There’s muckle in the root
That never can wun oot,
Or’t owre what is ’ud sweep
Like a thunderstorm owre sheep.

But shadows whiles upcreep,
And heavy tremors leap…
C’wa’, Daith, again, sned Life’s vain shoot,
And your ain coonsel keep!…

Time like a bien wife,
Truth like a dog’s gane—
The bien wife’s gane to the aumrie
To get the puir dog a bane.

Opens the aumrie door,
And lo! the skeleton’s there,
And the gude dog, Truth, has gotten
Banes for evermair….

 

from A Drunk Man Looks at Throbbing Thistle