Many of men on the ocean need the winds
Even for us men of land, which we use it to grind
Avena to oats, wheat to flour, for us to flourish
Keeping us fed and well nourished
Winds lead to places far often
Though lend its strength to soften
With the strong milling
Given the miller is willing
The Fief blooms, a place of plenty now
With wheat, sheep, pig and cow
Men watching over their ‘stock and flock
Watered with the water of the loch
Ye men of faith visit the parish
Aches and thoughts of work vanish
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