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 To An Aberdeen Poet Who Write Solely In English
by Helen B Cruickshanks

Click here to listen to this in Real Audio read by Peter D Wright

                                            What ails ye at yer mither tongue?
                                            Hae ye forgot the tang o' it?
                                            The gurly guttrals, malmy soonds,
                                            The dirly words, the sang o' it?
                                            An wad ye cuist it a awa,
                                            Like bauchles on a midden-heid?
                                            Man, think agen afore ye sell
                                            Yer saul tae saft-like English leid.
                                            Wad ye forget the ballad-speik,
                                            Melodeon's chord and fiddle's clink,
                                            Forsweir yer grandad's wey o' life,
                                            Swap uisge-beatha for Kola drink?
                                            Say "Shinty is too rough a game
                                            And cricket's more my cup of tea. "
                                            Weel, hyne awa fae Aiberdeen,
                                            For feich, ye're owre genteel for me!

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