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My Homeland Scotland ©

Ian McCrae
Sydney, Australia
2005

From Scotland I am now long gone
And still I love to sing her songs,
The heather bells are ringing still
I canít forget the old windmill.

The winds are blowing just off shore
The lambs are bleating out on the moor,
The autumn leaves are about to fall
I long to hear the wild birds call.

Beech trees, Oak trees all around
Their leaves are lying on the ground,
Cold winter nights tucked in bed
Breakfast time with home made bread.

Long walks down through the heather
As a family, we were all together.
The good old days, I wonít forget
I remember every step.

Other things that make me smile
Sit down and talk, just for a while.
Reminiscing, sometimes with tears
Joy and sorrow, of bygone years:

The harvest times have come and gone
And still I love to sing old songs,
Old Scotland with her heather braes
I still love to sing her praise.

Through pastures green and mountains tall
The glens and moors where curlews call,
The sound of bagpipes across the moor
Gratifies a thirst I canít ignore.

And yet in all her glory and in splendour
Exiled Scots will defend her,
Scotland the place of my birth
No matter where I live on this earth.



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