The Poet’s Supper

 

The clans and kinfolk gather raun
Tae toast the mighty bard
And drink a cup tae his fine sel
And feast upon the board

The Chieftain o’ the pudding race
Is piped intae the room
And canny word spake o’er him
As though he were a groom

The haggis eaten, the dram taken
The poetry begins
Every one there takes a turn
Each for his sins

The Louse, The Mouse
Are read out aloud
And praises tae tha moon
Sang by aw thae crowd

When at last tha night is o’er
And weary home we step
We take one last wee dram
Lest we should e’er forget

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