Poem for the day

If you missed the poem of the day during your travels, find it here.

Up in the Morning Early

Cauld blaws the wind frae wast to west,
The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud and shrill's I hear the balt,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

CHORUS: Up in the morning's no for me.
Up in the morning early;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

CHORUS: Up in the morning's no for me.
Up in the morning early;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Robert Burns (1759 - 96)

View more poems