Doric Language

It wis jist a skelp o the mucklefurth.
A sklyter o roch grun.
Fin granfadder's fadder bruke it in
Fae the hedder an the funn.
Granferred sklatit barn an byre,
Brocht water tae the close,
Pat fail-dykes ben the bare brae face
An a cairt road tull the moss

Bit wir fadder softert 1 the yard
An skeppit anio bees
A pi keepit fancy dyeuks an doos
At warna muckle eese.
He bocht aul wizzent horwse an kye,
An scrimpit muck and seed;
Syne clocherin wi a craichly hoast,
He dwinet awa an deed.

Midder's growein aul an deen,
Dvlet an sma-bookit tee.
Bit stull she's maister o her wark.
My wark it maisters me.
Och, I'm tiret o plvtetin oot an in
Amo hens an swine an kye,
Kirnin amo brookie pots
A yirnin croods afye

I lookfar ower by Ythanside
Tac Fyvie's laich, Lythe lans,
To Auchterless an Bennachie
An the mist-blue Grampians.
Sairt o the hill o Bennygoak
An scunnert o the fairm,
Gin 1 bit dart, gin I bit dart,
I,d flit the comin term.

It's ull to thole on the first Spring day
Fin the black earth lies in clods,
An the teuchat's wallochin to the ploo
An the sna bree rins on the roads.
0, it's ull to thole i the sull hairst gloam,
Fin the lift's a bleeze ofire;
1 stan an glower, the pail in my han,
On nia road oot tull the byre.

Bit it's warst ava aboot Wutsundav
Fin the nichts are quaet an clear,
An the floorin curran's by i the yard
An the green corn 's in the breer;
An the bird aat gid this hull its name,
Yon bird ye nivver see,
Sits doon i the wid by the water-side
An laachs, laich-in at me.

"Fli,. flit ye feel, " says the unco bird.
“There’s finer, couthier folk
An kinlier country hine awa
Fae the hull o Bennygoak. "
Bit ma midder's growein aul an deen
An likes her ain fireside.
Twid brak her hert to leave the hull:
It's brakkin mine to bide.