Whit’s up wi ye wumman, whit’s yer despair
an whit’s causing the tears an the snotters?
Ah come in and ah find ye up oan a chair
bubblin louder than thon Afton Waters.
Whit’s that ye say – a wee moose oan the flair
gie’d ye the fright uv yer life,
fer goodness sake lassie, did ye ever compare
the size of the beastie and the size of the wife?
Yer sayin that ah huv tae search the whole place,
but the beastie cud be onywhere,
och, staup aw yer greetin an straighten yer face
ye canny bide there oan a chair.
How’m ah sposed tae find it? Ah’ll no tell ye again,
staup yer girnin an get doon frae there,
can ye no see this stramash is scarin the wain,
that’s enough noo, get doon frae the chair.
Says she – “Rabbie Burns ye can go bile yer heid
For ah’m no comin doon till the bluddy thing’s deid.”
(first published on Stanza’s poetry map of Scotland)
Lesley Quayle is a widely published poet and a folk/blues singer currently living in deepest, darkest rural Dorset.