October

Och lown October daw come roond,
Thy blads haes ripit tae the faw;
Themorn's fell wind will whid thaim doun,
An waste thaim aw.
Tho huidies ower the firth yit caw,
Themorn thay'r like tae scrowe an gae.
Och lown October daw come roond,
Begin the oors o this day thrae,
Gar the day seem tae us less brief.
Saft herts aye leal tae simmer's croun,
Lat temperance time's mairch owergae;
Demit a blad at day's first daw;
At nuintid lowse anither leaf;
Ane frae oor treen, ane hine awa;
Uphaud the sun wi sober mist;
Enchairm the laund wi amatist.
Thrae, thrae!
For the grapes' sake, if thay war aw,
That's blads is sprittelt black wi frost,
Sae that thair sweetness binna lost -
For the grapes' sake alang the waw.

Robert Frost (1874-1963)