In Scotia's glens, whaur the thistle's found,
An' heather, purple doth abound
The rain doon pours, a ceaseless spate,
Like tears frae heaven, pure an' great.
O'er Spain's wide plains, sae warm an' fair,
Wi' olive groves an' rainfall rare,
When it doth come 'tis a welcome guest,
It soothe the land is its gentle quest.
But when these lands, sae far apart,
Meet in the rain, they share a heart,
For in its pitter-patter sound,
Auld Scotia an' Spain are bound.
Jim Craig
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