The Field By The Lirk O' The Hill

A poem by Violet Jacob

Daytime an' nicht,
Sun, wind an' rain;
The lang, cauld licht
O' the spring months again.
The yaird's a' weed,
An' the fairm's a' still -
Wha'll sow the seed
I' the field by the lirk o' the hill?

Prood maun ye lie,
Prood did ye gang;
Auld, auld am I,
But O! life's lang!
Gaists i' the air,
Whaups cryin' shrill,
An' you nae mair
I' the field by the lirk o' the hill -
Aye, bairn, nae mair, nae mair,
I' the field by the lirk o' the hill!

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