Mind thon dreich days
when first light threw a sickie
and the crumpled note
written in the bestest effort
of your mothers handwriting
buckled, sweated, crumpled
under the strain of your teacher’s disbelief?
I mind it fine.
I’ve turned up Bach’s Cello.
The rain’s carried my note away.
I’ll put the kettle on
so we can hae a news
and practice our bestest handwriting
under the strain of Bach’s carefree bow.