Classic Poem

A wee white cap and a wee green feather —
And who is the chap that's in the heather?
Speak me the word on the lap of the brae
As the cattle I herd in dusk and the day.

It's nothing I'd doubt of that man of sin
Whose nose sticks out and his chin drops in
And at me all day in the night and the morn
With " The cow's in the hay and the stirk's in the corn! "

Then Herself on the ditch bent like a root,
And I know she's a witch hand and foot.
Elbow and shoulder, neck and knee,
With " Ne'er was a bolder rake than me! "

He's old as the hill, and my! so thin,
She's older still, all bones and skin!
What they eat when they eat is nothing to see,
And what's left on the plate is left for me!

At school I'm no good. I'm deaf and I'm dumb,
Can't read a book and can't do a sum!
But leave me my lone on the fields where I know
How the birds make the nest and the butter-cups grow.

There! don't you hear it up on the bush!
Watch me go near it. My! it's a thrush.
Home of its own in the rowan tree —
It may be its lone but it's not hid from me!

A wee white cap and a wee green feather —
It's me is the chap that's in the heather!
Speak me the word on the lap of the brae
As my cattle I herd in dusk and the day.