A Guid New Year

Fin e're the auld year hirples oot
In ilka hame the toast is raised
An yet, ahin the Season's cheer
Hidden awa, the hint o' fear

For the Past is safe ahin us:
A barn, wi the hairst stap-fu;
Fit lies afore, is a cauld, braid park
Waitin the bite o' the ploo

The bairns are beddit an' sleepin'
The slowest crap ava;
As we squar' up tae the tick o' the clock
An think fit'll yet befa...

For Time's a bitter sickle
An noo's fan its edge is keen
An empty seat, by the Ingle
A glaiss that's sittin teem

Bit the sna bree happen Morven
An the lang, dour rigs o' Cromar
An the grey grey mist o' mornin'
That sleeps on Lochnagar
Can lauch at a body's fancies
Time winna alter them
For they've bin there sin' the start o't
Safe, till the warld's end.

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