For Charles King

There's some say "Lowp"
An t'ithers, “Foo far?”
In poleetical maitters ye maun shakk a leg
Tae satisfee cooncil, constituent craiturs
Feenancial dictators, ye hae tae be gleg.

Publishin poetry, or heistin a bard
Is as fashious an fyky as drawin the teeth
Frae an ill-naturet futterat
A Sisyphus darg
That's muckle ill-thankit, frae Lewis tae Leith

Gowf's the remeid. Ae guid skelp at the baa
Doon the girse tae the green, till it's pottit an hame
Fair sherpens the smeddum that's nocht tae succeed
In ceevic affairs far the aim is the same
Tae win yer objectives an Laurels, ye maun
Gyang wallop straicht furrit, ay jinkin the san.