I aye keekit oot at the warld,
And wunnered gin the warld keekit back at me,
Staunin at the lanimer o somethin,
On my face – the blast frae the cauld sea.

The watters atour wis a keekin-gless tae see
Faces that kythed lik me,
Fowk snecked atween twa airts,
Fowk flittin atour the seas.

And it seemed frae ma toft
– Wi its auld stanes and yowes,
And the soun o sangs in nicht’s laich howes –
That the music o fowk somewey jines

On the edge o the airt we fain wid be.
I’ve tholed a wheen sair times.
Ma face is poukit; ma bouk that bruckle.
I langsyne jaloused that I micht could –

Whan the river skailed til the sea,
Whan the lift held baith sin and mune –
Tae glower oot as faur as an ee can keek,
And raise a tass tae the lass keekin back at me.

Sound of Sleat
translated into Scots by Matthew Fitt