IN THE HIGHLANDS

My heart’s in the highlands

My heart is not here

My heart’s in the highlands

A-chasing the deer

Or else down on Fourth Street

Ordering beer

Armed with a fiz-gig

A sort of a spear

Used to hunt fishes

Not to hunt deer.

My heart’s in the highlands

I told you before

My heart got all huffy

And stormed out the door

About half past three

Or a quarter to four

Using foul language

(Which one must deplore)

And left for the highlands

Or else for the shore.

My heart’s in the highlands

Unless it has crawled

Out on the highway

Where it has stalled

And waits grim and mopish

Thence to be hauled

By some way-worn tow truck

With tires gone bald.

My heart isn’t home now

I’ll tell it you called.

(Note: I am delighted but puzzled that some people in Germany and Russia have been reading this obscure blog. If you have a moment, I'd be curious to know how you came across it. Meanwhile, welcome!)