The Vollavon is a funny wee thing
Plays the bagpipes and loves to sing;
By the side of a loch you can find him there;
But, please tread carefully, if you’ve a care
For the Vollavon is timorous and shy
And he’ll run away if he sees you by.
The Vollavon are no more to hear
For many centuries ago
They did disappear
And all you catch is a glimpse of fur
A shadowy image of him, or her;
As they blow a tune
By the light of the Moon;
And then they fade away,
So they say, not a moment too soon.