Monday, 10 August 2020

Barr Hill Wood

The noontide warmth snickers in an aboot thon trees

Ma wee dug snuffles arount the bracken

Nay gien a jot tae scunnered flies he pits in the air

Ir thir knackered buzzin birls doon tae anither brack.

The silence fair dunts the lugs

Whilst o'er bye a wee bird gies a helf herted cheep

Tae jildy a dunnock oot the wae

Afore the dug gies a loup an has them awa'.

Anent the forrest's edge

Ae coo, moo's a lament tae bein jagget

By a clegg ir some ither beastie.

We saunter on; the dug an me.

Him aye hopefu some wee moosie I'll pop up

Saes he can shou whit a ratter he is.

Nothin daen, pal, e'en a wee moosie

Cannae thole thon heat.

The sun kenspekles the grun

The dug sticks his neb dooon aa the holes

In hopes a wee moup 'ill came bye.

Bit the Noontide sun's pit a dwam tae thon.

As we daunder the woods, aa alane.

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