O Kaitness, pleyssie o ma birth means all e world till me,
Ida caost-line lek a bairnies scribble, rough an jaggedy,
Gret chownks o rock howked off as stacks by times remorseless waves,
Ida salt-encrusted cliff-tops homn o skirlin braves.

Ids no fit ye’d ca green an sproutin,’cept aboot e edge,
Meyde up in most o pure broon peyt wi scattered win-blown hedge,
E Camster Moss stretched oot for miles no cheynged throughout e ages,
Ids cairns defyin Faithur Time an elements mad rages.

Lochans dotted here aboot lek sapphires on e moor,
Black anes filled till brim wi secrets o some hellish oor,
Rabbids run demented, senseless creyturs squashed till deyth,
Soon stripped till bonns by gusty crows at revel in e greyth.

Tummeled hoosies left as tomb-stones till e by-gone men,
At loved an cultivated Kaitness, lived in but an ben,
Weemin woarn wi hevvin bairns, at twinty past thur prime,
Boadies wraxed wi sheer hard work, an owld afore thur time.

A broth-pleyte o e past an future, Week set in ids ways,
While Thirsa’s a new-fangled custom-beelt for comin days,
Dounreay fins thum splittin atoms, futuristic, aye,
Boot crofter ploughs an sows an hervists as in days gone by.

Wur fowk are hardy, hed till be, boot played richt herty hosts,
Till them at traivailled far an wide till settle roond wur coasts,
Iss pleyssie gets ablow yur skin, ye tune in till ids beyt,
Ah’m gled ah’ve Kaitness in ma veins, id sets ma blood on heyt.