A wee poem composed by John Henderson on the 7th of April, 2015
Ootbye it's aye cauld in ilk Winter's grup,
Sae wyse fowks'll bide roon thur waarm ingle-cheeks.
In the lift up abeen norlan lichts seldom sheen,
An' the dool mune it tee ainly baachily keeks.
Och! Why dis Ma Natur keep playin' the fule
Fur weeks efter scunnersome weeks?
Fowks mang for the Spring wi' its gleg croosey face
Fan gairdens wull waaken an' spurdies'll tweet
In a lift wi' wisp-cloods faar the sin's blinks'll peep,
An' scuffs o' licht reyn aft wull kittle ilk reet.
Syne, nae mair Ma Natur is daen her warst
Frae hoolin' an' cawin' fowks aff o' thur feet!