A SOUTHERNER'S SONG

Oh beauteous Hebridean isle, set in
silvery sea
There is nowhere on earth, or at least in
Scotland, that I would rather be.
Except perhaps in winter when the heart
can fail
Struggling to the hotel for a dram, in the
teeth of a gale.
In the summer fields, there are many
gambolling sheep
Who baa for most of the night, and keep
one off one's sleep.
And cows that graze contentedly in
flowery dells
And occasionally break their legs,
when they fall down wells.
The visitors and intrepid yachtsmen make
their way
To this hospitable isle on many a summer
day
And gasp in wonder at the grandeur of the
scenic views
Although they oft complain there are no
public loos.
The people are a rare and kindly breed
E'er ready to stretch out a hand to those in
need.
But though this glorious isle brings forth
praises from my mouth
I must confess, I spend eleven months
of the year in the warm South.