"Come gie's a sang", thae asked the poet
Ower the water, cross the muir
"Tell our joys an tell our woes"
The linnet sings sae bonnie-o
The poet waved his pen aloft
"My art's too great for the common trough"
"What fame is there for one like me
Reciting poor folks' history?"
"There's precious little wealth or glory
In telling common peoples' story"
The people turnt untae thair ain
Tae sing thair passion an thair pain
"Come gie's a sang", they asked the makar
"Tell our story wi your craft"
The makar traivellt thro the laun
Pentlan Firth tae Solway strand
Thro the Lawlans an the Hielans
Frae the Border tae the Northern Isles
He's gaen frae Stornoway tae Brechin
Listenin tae the people speak
He listent as the day wis dawin
Eagle's cry an houdie's caw
He heard the roar o ragin seas
Branches whisperin in the breeze
He heard the weepin widow mournin
The crack o braidsword cleavin bone
Heard the shipyaird haimmer ringin
The lilt o playin children sing
The wind it blew frae aa the airts
Bringin tunes frae ither pairts
He's taen every sound he heard
Crafted thaim tae makar's words
The poet's work lies in a book
Whaur naebody but scholars look
But still the makar's sang is sung
His words are pairt o everyone
