- Crùbte an-seo fon an t-sian,
- 's air chùl nam balla tha cum ail na gaoithe air ais,
- òirlich de thim bho na sparran,
- tha iad 'nan suidhe, ri còmhradh
- air crodh 's air daoine,
- 's ri cur fàd air an teine,
- 's an sileadh 'na ghlaodh dubh a' dlùthadh.
- Se foghar fiadhaich a rinn i 's tha 'n coirc 'na laighe;
- cha dàinig iasg an-diugh, nì ach an sgadan,
- sgadan saillte 's buntát', buntát' is sgadan;
- chan eil ni ri dhèanamh ach fàd a chur mun an teine
- is bruidhinn air crodh 's air daoine.
- 'S tha 'n sileadh 'na ghlaodh dubh a' dlùthadh
- a-nuas bho na sparran,
- a-nuas bhon an tughadh,
- is feumar as t-earrach an tughadh a sgaoileadh 'na thodhar
- air an talamh-buntàta,
- 's cha dainig iasg an-diugh, nì ach buntàt' is sgadan.
- Dad ach a' bruidhinn air crodh 's air daoine
's a' cur fàd mun an teine-
- o shaoghail, is goirid do chuairt, 's is lorn an cridhe,
- is tana an sgàile, is dluth oirnn nimh an fhuaraidh.
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- Hunched here under the storm,
- behind the walls that keep back the wind,
- inches of time from the rafters,
- they sit, talking
- about cows and people,
- and putting a peat on the fire,
- while the molten soot's black gum comes closer.
- It's been a wild autumn
- and the corn is lying;
- no white-fish came today, nothing but herring,
- salt herring and potatoes, potatoes and herring;
- there is nothing to do but put a peat on the fire
- and talk about cows and people.
- And the molten soot's black gum comes closer,
- down from the rafter,
- down from the thatch,
- and in spring the thatch must be spread as manure
- on the potato patch,
- and no white-fish came today, only potatoes and herring.
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- Nothing but talking of cows and people,
- and putting a peat on the fire -
- O life, short is your course, bare is the heart,
- frail is the shelter, close to us is the venom of the cold wind.
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