Refugee
Eftir Edwin Muir
by Jim Mainland
A’m fled trow laand, owre sea, smoored laand an sea,
my hame a blüdied knock-soe, a rönnie o stanes,
an noo, as if wi someen idder’s een I see
uncan hills, an – I canna help it – banes
still athin da aert-bark an da gowan;
an it’s no da oob o a drone I hear,
safe in your gairden dis fine eftirnoon,
bit drummie-bees gyaain fae ear ta ear
at da trowie-girse. It’s da quiet you fear,
mindin da fitstramps sudden on a stair,
twa heavy, twa licht… Dan I mind nae mair.
Whit blew my life asindry blew me here,
fremd among freends. Dey aks; I say A’m fine.
Bit I doot da world deed lang, lang sin syne.
