by: Henderson, Jonathan (Ian)
Fermer handit me a tattie bag
Wi' a bilin' o' half-grown kittlins in't
cleukin' an' squallin'
Telt me t' tak them t' the dam
an' mak sure they war droont
afore I left
Fit cud I say? I wiz a half-grown loon
an' respectit the man. T'wizna my idea
orders wiz orders
Didna feel gweed fan the fermer's wife
skirlt "Murderer!" at's throu the kitchen windee
nae fair that
Drapt the bag in watter sax-fit deep
far it floatit cuz there wiz air in't
held it doon wi' a stick
Didna tak lang for the squeakin'
t' dee awa. Bit I still hear't noo an' an
in ma mind's lug.