Craigo Woods

A poem by Violet Jacob

Craigo Woods, wi' the splash o' the cauld rain beatin'
I' the back end o' the year,
When the clouds hang laigh wi' the weicht o' their load o' greetin'
And the autumn wind's asteer;
Ye may stand like gaists, ye may fa' i' the blast that's cleft ye
To rot i' the chilly dew,
But when will I mind on aucht since the day I left ye
Like I mind on you - on you?

Craigo Woods, i' the licht o' September sleepin'
And the saft mist o' the morn,
When the hairst climbs to yer feet, an' the sound o' reapin'
Comes up frae the stookit corn,
And the braw reid puddock-stules are like jewels blinkin'
And the bramble happs ye baith,
O what do I see, i' the lang nicht, lyin' an' thinkin'
As I see yer wraith - yer wraith?

There's a road to a far-aff land, an' the land is yonder
Whaur a' men's hopes are set;
We dinna ken foo lang we maun hae to wander,
But we'll a' win to it yet;
An' gin there's woods o' fir an' the licht atween them,
I winna speir its name,
But I'll lay me doon by the puddock-stules when I've seen them,
An' I'll cry "I'm hame - I'm hame!"

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