The Smoky Smirr o Rain

A misty mornin’ doon the shore wi a hushed an’ caller air,
an’ ne’er a breath frae East or West tie sway the rashes there,
a sweet, sweet scent frae Laggan’s birks gaed breathin’ on its ane,
their branches hingin beaded in the smoky smirr o rain.

The hills aroond war silent wi the mist alang the braes.
The woods war derk an’ quiet wi dewy, glintin’ sprays.
The thrushes didna raise for me, as I gaed by alane,
but a wee, wae cheep at passin’ in the smoky smirr o rain.

Rock an’ stane lay glisterin’ on aa the heichs abune.
Cool an’ kind an’ whisperin’ it drifted gently doon,
till hill an’ howe war rowed in it, an’ land an’ sea war gane.
Aa was still an’ saft an’ silent in the smoky smirr o rain.