Aye … tis true ,
a misst ye sae muckle lass, truly,
an’ I’ve watched ye from afar, always
where briny mist broods ower the peaty soil
covered with heather and bracken and moss, dancin’
where the cliffs moan and whistle with the seaward winds,
Its whaur the King dreams the dreams and sighs…
But don't tell the others mind ye,
cuz them storms dae come
in all manner a ways
shriekin’ hell,
and they try to ruin the dream,
and they try to steal the hearts longin’s,
And ah thought a hunder times plus me-self:
“can I gie ye a haund to protect ye my love,
or can ye gies a haund to warm me heart?”
But when it truly comes to askin’ ya
ah got tongue-tied and faa on me
face like a bloody fool -
Ah dunnae kin what’s wrang wi’ me -
But I love ye lass, and
We’ll prevail at all costs,
with few fears to push aside,
and nae mair discord to heal,
the frightful past nae strove for,
an’ our future atween us assured
cause there's no other way for us lass,
Standin’ strang against storms
and the bloody naysayers,
and all the sour pickles;
It’s how we’ll survive
When th’ jobby hits th’ fan
    A Monumental Journey Novels