Come in, sit down, please take a seat,
Not here - there by the fire.
You didn't come here for the heat?
If so, this will be dire.
The wind is howling down the Glen,
But, hey, the view is great.
Why don't you go and climb the Ben
While I expectorate?
Forget the heat they have in France,
Who wants to sit and read
Beneath the plane trees in a trance
And watch the poppies seed?
Or hang around in dappled shade
Whilst sipping from one's glass,
Just checking if the wine they made
Excels within its class?
No - who wants that when you can watch
The rivers filling up
With rain in Scotland - have a Scotch -
Go pick a buttercup.
It's August now and warm today,
Three layers will suffice.
Be careful now with what you say
To locals - sound advice!
It's loch of course, it's not called lake,
And burn's the word for brook.
Your reputation is at stake -
A disapproving look
Will certainly appear when they
Hear loch pronounced as lock.
Should you not grasp just what they say,
Then smile and mumble "och".
But chances are that you won't see
A single soul at all.
You'll trek alone and feel so free,
Your troubles will seem small.
It's dreich, it's damp, but you won't care,
For standing there you'll see
Blaeberries, heather and a hare
You'll come back and tell me?
I dedicate this ballad to my husband, who normally doesn't pay any attention at all to my rhyming exercises, or any other of my attempts to write poetry, but on this occasion helped me out with the fourth line of the second stanza.
Not here - there by the fire.
You didn't come here for the heat?
If so, this will be dire.
The wind is howling down the Glen,
But, hey, the view is great.
Why don't you go and climb the Ben
While I expectorate?
Forget the heat they have in France,
Who wants to sit and read
Beneath the plane trees in a trance
And watch the poppies seed?
Or hang around in dappled shade
Whilst sipping from one's glass,
Just checking if the wine they made
Excels within its class?
No - who wants that when you can watch
The rivers filling up
With rain in Scotland - have a Scotch -
Go pick a buttercup.
It's August now and warm today,
Three layers will suffice.
Be careful now with what you say
To locals - sound advice!
It's loch of course, it's not called lake,
And burn's the word for brook.
Your reputation is at stake -
A disapproving look
Will certainly appear when they
Hear loch pronounced as lock.
Should you not grasp just what they say,
Then smile and mumble "och".
But chances are that you won't see
A single soul at all.
You'll trek alone and feel so free,
Your troubles will seem small.
It's dreich, it's damp, but you won't care,
For standing there you'll see
Blaeberries, heather and a hare
You'll come back and tell me?
I dedicate this ballad to my husband, who normally doesn't pay any attention at all to my rhyming exercises, or any other of my attempts to write poetry, but on this occasion helped me out with the fourth line of the second stanza.
