I have nae drap of Scottish bluid,
but I love to be called lassie
by a man with a brogue,
who has tasted the haggis
and wished it a toast.
I love the taste of marmalade
and I love the look of the heather,
which often nestles in wedding bouquets.
There were many Scots names
up and down the sideroad
where I lived as a child,
a bairn you might say.
Hockey playing, TV watching people
but still most canny, still eaters
of the porridge, though scorning
haggis at this time and distance.
Some still play the bagpipes
and dance the ceilidh.
Some like a wee dram of whisky
and know which is their tartan.
Sons of St. Andrew do not forget.
A contest entry
- A Wee Contest for Saint Andrew's Day by Keith.
700 points, ended December 16, 2008, 6 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
So, what's your opinion of this?
Comments
-
Tastes and sounds and visuals
fly from the page to whet
the reader's imagination.
Great capture of the scene1
Aesthete2000
M-C
-
Lassie, lassie, of nae Scots blood--
it disnae matter, yer poem is good!
Nice one,
Bill
-
This is softly nostalgic, I can esp. relate to the hockey playing TV watching aspects; it reminds me of my father who is the one with Scottish blood in my family.
Happy St. Andrew's Day to you!
-
There's a lot of serious nostalgia for Scotland out there - much appreciated. Thanks lassie, for a poem that's classy.
Adding your comment:
