By Bob Smith.
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Young Dod his ti get mairret
Ti a quine fae doon the howe
He hisna tell’t his mither yet
So there’ll be an affa rowe
Fan Dod’ll tell his mither
I’m nae jist affa sure
Bit ye’ll nae doot hear her rantin
Fae Alford up ti Drummuir
Dod’s quine’s jist a young deem
Fa’s pit on a bittie wecht
Throwe a bit o hunky punky
Efter a marquee dunce at Echt
His mither noo she’s affa prood
Dod’s the aipple o her ee
She’ll fair be less than happy
If neebors gossip ower their tea
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It’ll be a funcy waddin
Dod’s mither wid hae nae less
Fit I doot micht bither her
Is the young quines type o dress
Foo tae cover up the bump
The quine’s mither will wark oot
Fit she wid richt like ti dee
Is skelp Dod’s lug nae doot
The quine hersel is nae pit oot
As she gyangs aboot her wark
Nae doot thinkin o the nicht
Young Dod he made his mark
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©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010. Image Credit: © Madja | Dreamstime.com
