Monday, January 19, 2015

Bot a Glove

One adult and three wee bairns please, I tell the lad at the gate
And for two notes he bids me enter, the lasses cannot wait
I'm hit with pipes and percussion waves, my lip curls to a smile
Tis the games I love so much that turn me to a child
Ah for the want a long time makes, my belly hunts for pies
And with a shot of H&P, oh stop, I'm going to cry

We watch the collies run their flock, sometimes through audience
My daughters love the interaction, they're glad there is no fence
They watch the girls upon the stage, dance about a sword
And then there was the ice cream stand, I seem them moving toward

My heart is stirred as the clans all march, led by the bag pipe's song
I thank the Lord I'm standing here, two years is far too long
And as I search the tartans, I come upon a pattern that I should like to wear
Far too old to worry now, and much too Scot to care
The laughter of some little boys was drowned out long ago
And grateful now am I, for the things I know

Calvin "Cheese Grits" Yerke


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