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Ma Auld Buits
A Milne

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This poem was published in the February 1934 issue of the Scots Independent.
Ma auld buits, ma auld buits,
Ye're a' wrang thegither,
Ma heels are doon, ma taes are oot,
Speirin' o' the weather.
We're auld frien's, we're auld frien's,
And mony a mile we've trampit,
Through simmer's stour and winter's snaw -
Nae wunner ye're disjaskit.
But wae's me, O wae's me,
The thocht maist gars me greet,
Ye hae nae mair the poor to fend
Me frae the stour and weet.
I' m rale laith, I'm rale laith,
To pairt frae ye ava,
It seems like leavin' human things
A' beildless in the snaw.
I'm awfu' sad, I'm awfu' sad,
But aff ye'll hae to gang,
I'll mak' mair speed wi'oot ye noo,
And I maun haste alang.
But deep doon, aye deep doon,
I'll put ye in the mools,
And hap ye owre wi' sod and moss,
Ma haun's ma anely tools.
I'm weel pleased, I'm weel pleased,
That noo ye're oot o' sicht,
And no anither cadger loon
Will ever on ye licht.
Noo fare ye weel, ma auld buits,
And may ye quately rest,
For weel I ken that while ye warked
Ye did your verra best.

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