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Poems from Francis Kerr Young
A PLUNGE IN THE PAST


a Shakespearean sonnet

Buttercups an' wine-tipped daisies were dancin'
blithely in the meadow as Dave and I
scampered doon to the Clyde: Jist twa weans chancin'
thistles, an' slabbers left by Holstein kye.
At last we reached the waater’s edge an' dived
richt in barenaked. Brrr! Chittering cold!
We splashed aroon' until oor pals arrived:
An' how we all treasured yon hours o' gold.
Och, the exuberance o' youth when one
is ten-years-old; climbing trees, or jist guddlin'
minnins - the thoosan' things that must be done
by ane wee boy afore summer’s gone. Muddlin'
to manhood is fleetin so it’s been said,
savour each day for ye’re a lang time deid.


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