 | Heliconundrums |  |
It's nae so hamely, to my mind,
As our ain sangs. Ye ken that one
Of Bonnie Poll, a screed of Burns.
So Sandy, off fu' yet some turns;
And scarcely waiting for his wind,
Ere they had ask'd he had begun.
As our ain sangs. Ye ken that one
Of Bonnie Poll, a screed of Burns.
So Sandy, off fu' yet some turns;
And scarcely waiting for his wind,
Ere they had ask'd he had begun.
| Heliconundrums | |