TWUSTERS THREE

THA TWUSTER - 1

A michtie wun amang it aa
Whan aa aboot’s fu lown
Tha mair tha wun shud birlin blaa
This sooks alang tha groun.

A twustèr is a fearsome sicht
It fins baith guid an bad.
It pues ower waas an dykes bigged ticht
An skails ocht in its pad.

There’s yins wud say it’s far waur got,
Noo that tha globe’s mair wairm.
Fur tha hale warl is gan tae pot,
It’s iz haes daen tha hairm.

A crookit fing’r frae abane
In coarn an stour has writ
Whut lies behin its whorlin brain
There’s nane has catched it yit.

But freats o thunner frae abane,
It’s nae mair Ect o God,
Than whan we bate a halpless wean,
An blame it on tha rod.





THA TWUSTER – 2

Tha stranger cum wi wurds sae fine
His hairt he sayed wus sair.
Thon help he gien iz seemed richt kine
Wi promises o mair.

He had a hairt o coarn we thocht
A pillar o tha Kirk.
A teuch oul life he maun hae wrocht
Tae niver lach nor smirk.

A tryst wus made that he wud be
Tha yin tae houl tha money,
But ithers thocht, jaist wait an see,
Fur whiles he ectit funny.

But then yin day he wus fun oot
Oor bank accoont wus boast.
“Ye sleekit twustèr!” wus tha shout
Frae iz that siller loast.





THA TWUSTER – 3

Naethin waste’t, hye or strae,
Tha mair left in a tang’l.
A bit o beddin fur a day,
As if pit throu tha mang’l.

But tak a twustèr or thra-heuk,
As whiles thon gadget’s caa’d.
Twa weel-skill’t men stairt in tha neuk,
Waakin bak as hye-raip’s draa’d.

Tha raip o hye’s as strang as ocht,
Whan ticht an kep frae thinnin.
As guid as onie raip shap bocht
Bi yins tae toon aye rinnin.

MILLISLE

A toon that’s no a toonlan,
In Bal’macruise it sits.
Tha mair it haes nae islan,
Millisle is whut it gets.

Tha Mill’s awa, like Borza’s,
Nae sliders, pokes, nor coarn.
M’Clatchey’s shap fur dullies,
Tha Furst an Last forlorn.

Tha auldest biggin stannin,
Tha Meetin Hoose fur shair.
A T-shape in its plannin,
But trippers gang nae mair.

Tha toon micht luk throughither,
An bi ma sowl ye’r richt.
Ye’d har’ly tak yer mither,
Whan daylicht turns tae nicht.

Doon bye tha shore it’s growein,
Ootbye tha Meetin Hoose,
Tha heidstanes A’m allowin,
Fur oul yins noo let loose.

There maun be some attrection,
Fur in yer motthor-car,
Ye cannae miss tha ection,
Nor pairk it onywhar.

But luk behin tha hoardin,
Tae whar tha simmer sin
Bates doon on weans a-spoartin,
Aa roon oor new Lagoon.