For Robbie and Esma Shepherd.

English bedd in the wireless.
We let it oot, whyles,
Turnin a knob, fur a bit diversion.
Min', we hidna a doonricht aversion til't
 It jist didna belang;
Keepit fur Sunday best,
Like an auld psalm.

Cam the day o' the pairty.
"Ye'll enjoy't," quo mither,
Hale an hairty.
"Say please an thanks.
Dinna be quanter,
Ye canna gae wrang."

The genii wis oot o' the wireless...
Somebody'd clapped a bin-lid
Ower the Scots.

There wis a rowth o' fancy pieces, I mind that,
An a wummin, dragon-dreidfu, in a green frock
Speenin broon saps, intil a dish.
"Fit'll ye hae?" she speired,
(The genii did some sma translation
 Takkin peety on a stranded fish)
"I'm easy. I'll tak onything."
An did the dragon nae blaw rikk?
Reid's a labster, near ower ill-natured tae spikk?

"A conscious decision," quo she, "is little tae ask
Efter aa my scutter."

"I'll takk the mochie mousse," I managed tae hubber.
"Wis't a nice pairty?" Speired ma mither.
"Fit wye are ye kickin the wireless?"