Don't Gerr Mine Hearty Conny

A tribute to Robert Burn.

Across the brae I glisk aboon,
The heathers blossomin' soon,
With the stars shroudin' a moon,
Till the mickle clusters are a boon.

'Tis the rough bracken rufflin' e'en,
'Neath the chirpin' cletch of se'en,
'Midst a thrang din freck with ste'en,
As spuggies awake from a swe'en.

Shrews jigger'd in their cold den,
Foxes bestraggl'd yarely by a glen, 
Whinchats shail'd glegly 'baht a fen,
Sprogs stirr'd 'long with ranker ken. 

Teemin' waters of a sprack firth,
By yonder sheen of a winly garth,
With the gleesome sigh of a mirth,
Whilst brookin' in a lo'esome earth.

Bain't eindill'd of the wankle gale,
Bustlin' nigh 'breast the snod dale,
Wieldin' strength within the swale,
Allus too cantly and soothly hale. 

Hie, hie lass to the gainest moor, 
Wendin' then forth jolly and stoor,
O slight me naught with thy gloor,
  For I tew good as a wrought boor.  

Don't gerr mine hearty conny,
Baht thine eyes fain and bonny,
Thrice I natter'd blind and mardy, 
Whither I bear a jip oft too hardy.

Sputterin' words again I mutter'd,
In the dunnest e'entides I flutter'd,
Abidin' before the boughs cluther'd,
By the winds of yester that wuther'd.