Riding on a horsie, never standing still

Riding on a horsie, never standing still,
Doun by St. Martins, and owre by Newmill,
In by Guildtown and round by Cargill,
Richt up Burstbane, and owre by Gallowhill,
Yont by the Harelaw, and doun to Wolfhill,
And that's the way to ride a horse and never stand still.

Little Son

The very acme of my woe,
The pivot of my pride,
My consolation, and my hope
Deferred, but not denied.
The substance of my every dream,
The riddle of my plight,
The very world epitomized
In turmoil and delight.

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