She Gathers Gun do Rich my Choice

Old Gaelic Poem – “I Will Climb No More”

‘S Gann Gun DÏrich Mi Chaoidh

‘S gann gun dÏrich mi chaoidh
Dh’ionnsuidh frÏthean a’ mhonaidh;
‘S gann gun dirich mi chaoidh.

Fhuair mi litir a D˜n Eideann ‘g rýdh
Nach feud mi dhol do ‘n mhonadh.

‘S tric a mharbh mi fiadh ard bheann
Air na glinn a b’ýille culaidh.

Fýgaidh mi a nis an tir seo, chan fhaigh
M’inntinn sÏth innt’ tuilleadh.

Bheir mi ruaig gu cÚrs’ nan Innsean
Feuch an dean mi fhÏn am buinnig.

Homophonic Translation:

“She Gathers Gun Do Rich my Choice”

She gathers gun do rich my choice

downing sooth farther and money aid;

she gathers gun do rich my choice

Far my litter and down ideas

go ride

Not feud my doll do no

moaned.

She trick a marble my find arch

bean.

Air no glean a bicycle koolaid –

Fighting my anis and tired soul

chad fake.

Minimum salt isn’t to lead.

Bear my ragu curses man.

Inseam.

Fake and dream my final am

bunning.