Culture

Poetry Corner The Gowk

Oan this eer day April 1st; fowk, guid owr’ nae sae guid, gaun aroon toon tellin tales an makin mischief ’til noon; it wis kent weel in Scotland as Hunt The Gowk:

cuckoo

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The Gowk

Half doun the hill, whaur fa’s the linn
Far frae the flaught o’ fowk,
I saw upon a lanely whin
A lanely singin’ gowk:
Cuckoo, cuckoo;
And at my back
The howie hill stüde up and spak:
Cuckoo, cuckoo.

There was nae soun’: the loupin’ linn
Was frostit in its fa’:
Nae bird was on the lanely whin
Sae white wi’ fleurs o’ snaw:
Cuckoo, cuckoo;
I stüde stane still;
And saftly spak the howie hill:
Cuckoo, cuckoo.

By William Soutar