Fitna’ feel said that sna’ wis fite?
Blue-like, maybe, wi’ jist a tippie o’ pink.
Aye, an’ grey, of coorse, far ‘e shadda’ o’ e blackie fa’s.
Gye’n caul for e peer craitur, an’ a’.

Pit oot half an aipplie an’ see him pick, pick pickin’ awa’.
An’ syne, fan e dark comes doon,
wi’ frost an’ caul’,
an’ blackie is awa’ seekin’ a bield for e nicht,
naethin’ left on e snaw, bit e skin o’ yon aipplie,
still rosie-reid, but teem,
teem as a drum!