Tak tent. Ma wirds are steerin again
Claikin tae thirsels, wi me
Harknin tae them, fooshionless.
Puir Colotes, vratch an gadaboot o the thochts
Aywis harknin tae the wirds reamin ower
Sayin, “Ye, Colotes,
Colotes, ye o Lampsacus, born
Amangst the olive wids an crickets
An splytrin burns, an crickets, rinkin on
Blythe in the sun, rinkin on aboot
The pleisur o bein blythe in the sun
Ye, Colotes, (ye’ll mind the name aa richt)
Cricket o Lampsacus
Pleisur-sikker, underling, skiffie o the bluidy sun,
(An yon’s jist dandy, sez I)
Skiffie o sorts tae a claikin tongue
Ay harkin tae fit
It’s claikin aboot Blytheness
An the state o yer Sowel.”
Mind ... The state o ma sheen
Hisna a luik in!
Nae yet, onywye.
Nae on a day like this
Wi the sun warmin the yird tae stoor
An buggar aa else adee.