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Poem	CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shill’s I hear the blast— I’m sure it’s winter fairly. Chorus.—Up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early; When a’ the hills are covered wi’ snaw, I’m sure it’s winter fairly. The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A’ day they fare but sparely; And lang’s the night frae e’en to morn— I’m sure it’s winter fairly. Up in the morning’s, &c.
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