Silence sits like fog on
the coorse flattent earth
far the men eence workit.

The lonesome een stans
tall in the bricht sun, wi’
fite jaicket an’ black cap.

Nae langer dis he breathe
misty steam in the frost;
nae langer dis his pipe
puff swirlin’ smowk
like ghost ships
ridin’ on meenlit skies.