Some one was singing Up a twisty stair, A fragment of a song, One sweet, spring day, When twelve o’clock was ringing, Through the sunny square – ‘There was a lad baith frank and free, Cam’ doon the bonnie banks o’ Dee Wi’ tartan plaid and buckled shoon, An’ he’ll come nae mair to oor toon.’ – ‘He dwells within a far countree, Where great ones do him courtesie, They’ve gien him a golden croon, An’ he’ll come nae mair to oor toon.’ – No one is singing Up the twisty stair. Quiet as a sacrament The November day. Can’t you hear it swinging, The little ghostly air?- Hear it sadly stray Through the misty square, In and out a doorway, Up a twisty stair – Tartan plaid and buckled shoon, He’ll come nae mair to oor toon.
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