by: Ferries, Kayleigh
The sun slowly gings doon ahin the trees
Makkin the lang snawy path glow.
Rubbits hop aroon in search o food
Sniffin the fit-prents made bi the fermer.
The snawy trees slowly shakk back an fore
Makkin creaky souns that echo ben the wids
A cauld win creeps throwe the trees
Makkin the rubbits shakk.
The burn slowly trickles
Doon the side o the steens
It can be heard fur miles aroon
Supplyin watter fur beasts.