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The Memoirs Of A Scotsman With Alzheimer's ©

John McCormick
Bass Lake, Ontario, Canada

I sairly miss the pibroch,
As it gaily builds its nest.
The haggis smells so sweetly,
As I tuck it in my vest.

The tumshy's in my fondest dreams,
As it sails up the Clyde,
And I oft-times wish, I could have a dish,
Of bonny Kate McBride.

The porridge that my mither used,
To paint the kitchen door,
The touch of cockie leekie
As it runs around the floor.

And if my memory serves me well
It was only yesterday,
When the peever beds, stuck out their heads
In the merry month of May.

To hear the cry, of a wee mince pie,
Wi' a tattie on its knee.
The whistlin' kilt that ma faither built,
Is a thing I long to see.

I dearly loved the oxters,
We used to catch at Leith,
I dinnae see them half sae weel,
Since they took awa' ma teeth.

I sometimes wish that I could see
A kipper on the wing.
A wulk, or a clootie dumplin,
I'd love to hear them sing.

But maist of aw', I miss the coos,
Wi' the bonny coloured feather,
The thistles and the butts and bens,
As they run aboot the heather.

I dinnae ken what else I miss,
Or what I'd like tae see,
But if ye aw' have read this far,
Ye're twice as daft as me.

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