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Elphinstone Kist   Bairn Rhyme

The Sad Tale of Twa Wee Mooses     by: Gardner, Dr Bruce K.

(fa dee'd fan they loupit intae 'e Manse biler)


Twa mooses cam tae a Manse ae nicht
Tae forage an tae spy:
Aa happit weel wi scarfs an gloves -
An bunnets o' tweed, forbye.


Thay squeezed thair wey intil a neuk
O the garage, chawing fairly;
On fitivver thay could sink thair jaaws
Thay nippit aathing - sairly!


But the biler seen jist caught thair ee
As it stood like a silage tower,
An' thay dreamt o a moosie's cosy nest
Far thay'd pull the strae weel ower.


Sae roon an roon, an up ‘e wey
Thay creepit, wi a clatter,
Till a funny smell (fit wisna strae)
Made baith wee mooths tae watter


The insulation in 'at place
Wis fine tae mak a nestie
Fur a clivver moose could line his hoose
An sleep athoot 'is vestie!


But - sad tae say – ‘e best-laid schemes
O moosies ging agley:
Fur thay spied a firran wheel 'at birled
In an affa mill-like wey....


Thay dreem't o breid an butter't rolls
An loup't a fit or mair -
Traversan brackets an sherp wires
Tae sniff at wheelie's lair.


Its birlan blades an uvven-like sounds
Gave aff a warm-like smell;
Tae mak thair moosies' senses reel
An haud them in its spell!


The first ane, he took aff his scarf
His bunnet an his gloves;
Tae chunce his airm for a bit o breid -
Fit ivv'ry moosie luives.


O lack-a-day! Fit dreams may come
Fan we’ve shuffle’t oor mortal coil!
The moosie stertit – disappeart! -
Like a dose o' castor ile!


The ither ane, he lookit ben
Tae see far moosie went...
Fan - sook! an bang! - he flew richt in
Twas the biler's main air vent!


I hinna got the funcy words
Tae sing foo moosies fell!
Fan baith o them spun roon inside
Thair (un-expeckit) Hell…


But thay are objeck lessons, baith
Foo bricht thair een was dazzle't;
An a moment's greedy thochtlessness
Jist left peer moosies frazzle't.


As tribute due tae baith of them
The biler cough’t an splutter't,
Threw oot black smoke like ony ‘Crem’,
File its girning motor mutter't.


Come morning, cam the engineer
Tae pick oot bits an pieces:
Sic hoped-for gains, noo sad remains
O a pair of doomed wee meeces!


Ae pair o gloves, ae bunnet, scarf
Weel tatter't at the edges -
Twa brither moosies, daruk an charr’t
Wis laid anaith the hedges.


The birdies sang a lang lament
But ane said, "I've aye fared
Gey weel, wi' bits of breid an fat
That Manse fowk like tae share.


"But moosies nivver learn tae ask
Like birds - aa civilized:
Thay're ayeweys sneakin roon at nicht
An it leads tae thair demise!


"Sae, fledglins, flee in the gairden, jist
An ye'll get yer pieces fine;
'Twas curiousity killed the cat -
Twa nosey mooses, syne…


"Jist bide awa' fae the gairage, noo:
It's fu' o' aawkward things,
Far birdies micht jist snag thair beaks
An hurt thair tiny wings."


The fledglings nodded, piously:
"We'll nae ging near 'e hoose;
Nor climb up intae biler vents,
Like a daft, ill-trickit moose!"



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