The Blue Jacket

When there comes a flower to the stingless nettle,
To the hazel bushes, bees,
I think I can see my little sister
Rocking herself by the hazel trees.

Rocking her arms for very pleasure
That every leaf so sweet can smell,
And that she has on her the warm blue jacket
Of mine, she liked so well.

Oh to win near you, little sister!
To hear your soft lips say –
'I'll never tak' up wi' lads or lovers,
But a baby I maun hae.

'A baby in a cradle rocking,
Like a nut, in a hazel shell,
And a new blue jacket, like this o' Annie's,
It sets me aye sae well.'

Marion Angus

Mare