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Poems by Sharon Reaper
A drink nae twa keeps the Grim Reaper awa


A pome fir the faimly chiel.

 ‘Come awa in, come awa in.
I’ll tak ye tae the dying yin,’
Mistress Robina winked at her guest:
whit an awfie ane she wis tae jest.
Fou raing did his huidit cloak swurl:
boy wis he led a merry pirl.
Efter her ivver-rushing an’
weel-worn heels, he fecklishly ran
‘til they reaked the maister’s chaumber,
whaur Hamish wis in deep slumber.
Jist afore they entered his room,
their lugs were hit by a lood boom:
grating coafs an’ rasping wheezes
interspersed wi’ fou force sneeshes.
Robina cudna stan the sair blare,
an’ sae swith heided back doonstair.

Frae aneath his cosy cover,
Hamish witnessed the Dour Cutter.
He got sic a hairt-stappin’ fricht,
The puir sowl lowped his ain heicht.
Aff the ruif banged Hamish’s noggin,
the huidit figure bid standin’.
Hamish sterted recitin’ guid words:
lyrics nae in tune lik sangburds.

Wi’ the alias Dr Cronus,
bemangt prey wis sic a bonus.
Bewaur o’ his cald beeny cleuks,
fir they haud glancie split-new hooks,
an’ monie ither hackin’ tuils
that niver could tolerate fuils.
The wee Rob Sorby wis nae match
fir the hey-sned’s deep cuttin’ scratch.

Hamish wis a firm believer
in drinkin’ tae ward aff fever.
Noo a fullie-fledged drouthie
back tae snoozle he went droosie.

Gettin’ a dose o’ his ain graith,
his drames were boglie by dreich daith.
Waukenin wi’ a suddent start:
frae this warld he wudna depart

A remedy sae bittersweet
ca’d fir a tap saicret receipt.
Jist ane ingredient wis kent:
Herr o’ the dug, pulled wi’ consent.
Frae MacDougall, his freenlie pooch,
Dr Cronus likly did mooch
‘is key bittie o’ the potion.
Man’s best freen – suithfast devotion.

‘Feel free tae hae a cup o’ cheer,
but pass up a hail crate o’ beer.
Dae ‘is each an’ ivverie day,
an’ it daith’s door niver agane stray.’
Dr Cronus boded wice wirds
at Hamish wud mind efterwards.
He bade the guid doctor fareweel,
thenking him fir sic a fair deal.
Hauf-roads throu her polishing chore,
Robina saw him tae the front door.

Fizzin’ lik a wumman obsessed,
fullie fired, upby she pressed.
Eesing her tongue as a wappen,
Hamish, ivverie sae afen,
wis tae receive twintie lashes:
hid she foon his saicret stashes?
Hamish marvelled it her gnashers:
niver hid he seen sic smashers.
He kept quate during her spiel:
he didna feel ane bittie weel.

Efter a fyow lug-duntin’ roons,
Hamish tried tae sneck aff the soons.
He didna ken whit wis mair torter:
natter by his wife or dochter.

© Sharon Reaper, 2002

Translated terms for the poem 'A drink
nae
twa keeps the Grim Reaper awa'
(listed in order they are placed in poem)

pome

poem

fir

for

faimly

family

chiel

man

awa

away

tak

take

ye

you

tae

to

yin

one

whit

what

awfie

awful

ane

one

wis

was      

fou

full

raing

circle

huidit

hooded

swurl

swirl

pirl

twirl

efter

after

ivver

ever

an’

and

weel

well

fecklishly

feebly

reaked

reached

maister

master

chaumber

chamber

whaur

where

slumber

sleep 

jist

just

afore

before

lugs

ears

lood

loud

coafs

coughs

wi’

with

sneeshes

sneezes

cudna

coud not 

stan

stand

sair

sore

sae

so

swith

speedily

heided

headed

doonstair

downstairs

frae

from

aneath

beneath

Dour

Grim

Cutter

Reaper

sic

such

hairt

heart

stappin’

stopping

fricht

fright

puir sowl

poor fellow

lowped

jumped

ain

own

heicht

height

aff

off

ruif

roof

noggin

head  

bid

stayed

sterted

started

guid words

prayers

nae

not

lik

like

sangburds

songbirds

Dr Cronus

Grim Reaper

bemangt

injured

bewaur

beware

cald

cold

beeny

bony

cleuks

clutches

haud

hold

glancie

shiny

split-new

new

hooks

sickles

monie

many

ither

other

hackin’

cutting

tuils

tools

niver

never

fuils

fools

wee

small

Rob Sorby

sickle

nae

no

hey-sned

scythe

noo

now

fullie

fully

drouthie

alcoholic

snoozle

sleep

droosie

drowsy

graith

medicine

drames

dreams

boglie

haunted

dreich

bleak/dreary

daith

death

waukenin

awakening

suddent

sudden

warld

world

wudna

would not

ca’d

called

tap

top

saicret

secret

receipt

recipe

kent

known

herr

hair

o’

of

dug

dog

freenlie

friendly

‘is

this

bittie

bit

freen

friend

suithfast

true

hae

have

hail

whole

dae

do

ivverie

every

it

at

agane

again

boded

offered

wice

wise

wirds

words

wud

would

mind

remember

efterwards

afterwards

guid

good

fareweel

farewell

thenking

thanking

hauf-roads

midway

throu

through

fizzin’

raging

wumman

woman

upby

upstairs

eesing

using

wappen

weapon

afen

often

twintie

twenty

hid

had

foon

found

quate

quiet

didna

did not

fyow

few

duntin’

bashing

roons

rounds

sneck aff

switch off

soons

sounds

ken

know

mair

more

torter

torture

natter

nagging

dochter

daughter

 


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