Four thick walls with rounded corners,
On the shore of this Deer Cliff
Four generations lived and left,
At the foot of this Deer Cliff
One hundred-and-thirty years of life,
At the place they call Deer Cliff
Through Clearance, flood and famine
They stayed at this Deer Cliff
Tailoring and Fishing,
Working from this Deer Cliff
Knitting, Weaving, Wool-spinning,
Turn threads to webs of time
Wool-Weaving and Tweed-Making,
Clo Mhor from this Deer Cliff
Nineteen-Fifty saw the end,
The final breath was taken.
Four solid walls and generations,
Direcleit home spun to dereliction.
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