He has lived in Australia for thirty five years
And for Scotland his old Homeland he has no more tears
He will never again climb the steep heather hill
Or hear the babble of the silver tongued rill
That flows from the lake where grass to bracken yield
By ditches and wildwoods and through many a field
And rough and damp moorland where rank rushes grow
On to the big river it ever does flow
In his fifty fifth year his once brown hair silver gray
One might say of him he has known a better day
Thirty two years married to his Aussie wife she's my soulmate he does say
And their only child a son his daughter will be seven in May
And though he may never see his old Homeland again
The accent of Scotland with him does remain.
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