Now the crofter is a happy man, or at least he should be
His tasty food comes from the land, and sometimes from the sea
Out each morning with his dog, mending fences, tending stock
Then perhaps he'll walk the hillside and gather in his flock
When summer comes you may find him in the peat bog, as merrily he digs
He may spend many hours watching lambs at play, or talking to his pigs
His hens may gather at his feet eating worms as he digs new drains
And mending dykes is satisfying, though his back it sometimes pains
In the springtime ducklings hatch, and lambing takes all night
Or to see the cow with its new calf is really quite a sight
And in the summer you stack the byre with sweet smelling hay
Or visit to your favourite loch and catch trout till close of day
Counting stags upon the hillside as the snow it brings them near
Watching the sunrise early morning hoping that it stays clear
Watching the fisherman haul their pots from a cold and icy sea
But the crofter can be contented knowing that he is still free
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem