I walked along the yellow blue beach
and up Asc na Greine; to Col-bheinn I climbed.
The sun over Tubairnaich cast a wee shadow,
it’s tilting to Smeòrail told me the time:
‘twas time for a dram from our clan-crested flask
(our uisge beatha can clear up our minds).
I gave thanks to our Prince with words from Culloden:
“tis grand we still think in Jacob’n Rhyme”.
Awa’ doon the hill to the track by the lochan
that leads us all home in the parish of Clyne.