Explore "Brithers" by David Rorie on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ 'Twas up at the tree near the heid o' the glen / I keppit a tinkler chiel, / The cauld wind whistled his auld duds through, / He was waesomely doon at the heel; / But he made me free o' his company, / For he kent that I wished him weel.
He lookit me fairly 'tween the een, / He cam' o' an auncient clan; / He gae me gude-day in a freendly way, / While he spak me man to man, / Though my gibbles were a' for the human frame / An' his for kettle an' pan.