|Tess by sharon|
Over the next few months we're going to run a few old folksongs and local pieces from The Doric Lays which relate to the local area. We bit of scottish poetry and song all round. But to start us off, a new, lighthearted piece written by Con Deveney.
On a rain swept hill wae a brilliant view,
Stood there on top was a wet Broon coo.
Up there too were muckle sheep,
Through rain soaked wool they glaiketly peep.
The fermers dug he fair cooried doon
Fluffed up in his fur, so he widna droon.
The fermer waved his haun…And shouted “away”
The dug thought, aye, but it wint be the day!
The fermer lifted his size 12 boot,
The dug thought right, time for a scoot.
The sheep they scattered, ower far and wide
Some doon as far as yon River Clyde.
The Fermers curses, echoed far and near,
Putting the wee dug in an awfy fear.
The farmer shouted, “I’ll kill that dug”
i will break its legs, rip aff his wee lug.
The dug wae a bound, and a muffled yelp
Went fleeing hame at his fullest pelt.
The fermer took off after him,
His ruddy wet face was terrible Grim!
Homeward bound to his Mistress dear.
With tail straight oot and flattened ear.
Into her arms with an enormous bound
Safe at last, whined the little hound.
“Whit fur husband, are you chasing the wee sowl.
Look at him shoogle. You’ve fair made him howl!
Awa ma wee pet, and sit by the grate.
And you, ya bad man, calm doon from your state.
You’ve cursed and threatened the wee dug to maim,
But look you outside, the sheeps followed you hame.
Be fair to the wee dug, and give him his due.
There’s not just the sheep, but look the Broon Coo.”
The fermer stood there, his thoughts awfy deep,
As he watched his wee dug drift off into sleep.
He reached down fondly, for to give it a clap.
And the dug bit his hawn with jaws like a trap.
The moral of this story is really quite clear
Fur the sake o your sanity, to jook trouble and fear;
When herding your sheep, gae the wife a big hug,
Sit you by the fire, and the wife taks the dug.
Here endeth the Wee Dugs Tail