The Windae ©
Margaret Leith Minter
Victoria, B.C., Canada
Fin I look oot the windae,
I can see the bairnies playin'
An' the mist that curls aroon' a far-off hill;
The collie lyin' pechin', jist waitin' for the maister;
The roses growin' ower the windae-sill.
The cat wi' a' her kitlins, weel-hidden in the heather;
My faither an' his flock gaun doon the brae;
A rodden tree wi' berries, a' ready for the winter;
The cairt-horse bringin hame a load o' hay.
My brither bringin' in the kye for milkin';
The burnie tricklin' doon towards the mill;
The sun gaun doon ahint the distant mountains,
An' a'thing roon aboot sae hushed an' still.
Jist lookin' oot the windae,
There's a' the ties that bind,
There's only one wee problem,
The windae's in my mind!