Fine Flowers in the Valley...

[muninnskiss]

Fine Flowers in the Valley
By Robert Burns

She sat down below a thorn
(Fine flowers in the valley),
And there she has her sweet babe born,
(And the green leaves they grow rarely).

Smile na sae sweet, my bonie babe
(Fine flowers in the valley),
And ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead,
(And the green leaves they grow rarely).

She's taen out her little penknife,
(Fine flowers in the valley),
And twinn'd the sweet babe o' its life,
(And the green leaves they grow rarely).

She 's howket a grave by the light o' the moon,
(Fine flowers in the valley);
And there she's buried her sweet babe in,
(And the green leaves they grow rarely).

As she was going to the church,
(Fine flowers in the valley);
She saw a sweet babe in the porch,
(And the green leaves they grow rarely).

Sweet babe and thou wert mine,
(Fine flowers in the valley) ;
Wad deed thee in silk so fine,
(And the green leaves they grow rarely).

O mother dear when I was thine,
(Fine flowers in the valley);
You did na prove to me sae kind,
(And the green leaves they grow rarely).