O' Rabbie that e'er helped oor tongue
flow like a well that's newly sprung
that wae true passion an' Usquabae
recites tha spirits O' Scotland's way
Words that put merit in oor speech
Words, tha English scauld against an' preach.

Och! If it wasney fa oor ways
thats wannered doun tae oor days
we couldney say worth a rot
what makes a Man, true a Scot
Let England wae her tonsils strained
keep what fa them tis better Named.

Nae Scot wants tae pass his days
with words that doun in Cambridge lays
far better tis oor tongue in grace
Than a' O' England's frills an lace
Nae better spoken word there is
than what a Scot calls truly His.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

My heart was promised long ago
To a man known not by me
When I was young and he was old
and I not his Anabel Lee

I forsaken
on this path untaken
bound to wander
and Never be Free

Of the Grip I feel,
of a man who can only be half real,
to the Likes of Me.

Wherever he lay,
Deeply I pray,
He May never know of Me.

While I dream of day
And hear God say,
A Blessing and a Curse unto
Thee

To love with a love
that is more than love,
but never be allowed to utter
the treasured "we".

Glimpses of faces
Leaving the bitterest Traces
To mock and taunt the waking of me.

Searching For
the Wide Open Door
of a Home with
No Vacancy

Winter's Cold
and Summer's Scauld
Are no strangers to me.

The days drag on,
knowing this bitter song,
plays on, endlessly.

I wait for the sleep,
with a lover's cold creep,
to kiss my lips,
grab my fingertips,
and Squelch the Promise Sworn Not By Me

For I know not how long,
I can have courage and be strong
Knowing I'm not anyone's Anabel Lee