In A Faraway Land Of The Thistle ©

Not enough sun to brighten my day
Not enough sun to warm up my soul

When the pine trees at my house shudder with wind
And defiantly rustle in the northern snow flurry
Viewing the distance through the ice crystal glittering window
Although I have to mark with red ink in jotters
At a desk that had been moved quite close to the view
I do not want to dress up myself with delicate roses
Thistles blossom on my jumper the whole year
That I directly bought in the wool mill of St. Andrews
And I take my time
That actually I do not have
To remember the sea of thistles in summer
Of a weekend that was as short
As a weekend just can be
But more intensive than many a one unimportant lived month
Where golden rays of fought their way
Through the clouds over the Scottish Highlands

Enough sun to brighten my day
Enough sun to warm up my soul