'Had we never lov'd sae kindly
Had we never lov'd sae blindly
Never met or never parted
We had ne'er been broken hearted'

'

Fond memories, Betty and Anne, feeding the Ducks

To a Duck

I seldom ever, almost never, cross a bridge to ford a river

Down the banking I go spanking till I reach the stream below

All my confidence a brimming as I chance to go a swimming

With a waddling duck, a paddling duck, three ducklings in a row

As I hurry in a scurry through the muddy marshy slurry

The otters are a busy with their business to and fro

While a bitter chill is batting my bill is chitter chatting

To a waddling duck, a paddling duck, three ducklings in a row

Though this may sound absurd to a dicky ducky bird

With a dicky docky downy there to show

But a hilly billy chilly day makes fluffy feathers fly away

From a waddling duck, a paddling duck, three ducklings in a row

In the summer of a morning when the sunlight is a warming

Standing proud I quack and crow of my plumage all a glow

A cacophony of cackling is enough to raise the hackling

Of a waddling duck, a paddling duck, three ducklings in a row

This blissful peace alas soon over as winter does to meadow clover

With farmer in a field of snow the rifle rising oh so slow

Almighty bang and so much sorrow there will never be tomorrow

For the waddling duck, the paddling duck, three ducklings in a row

The farmer lies in cosy bed with rifle hung above his head

A feather quilted cover when wintry winds do blow

And softly underneath his crown a pillow stuffed with eiderdown

The waddling duck, the paddling duck, three ducklings in a row.

Angela and Jason

Having an exotic Cypriotic

Paps of Jura

Elizabeth 1, and a parcel of rogues

 Buttered Toast

Strange thoughts occur within my mind

Stirring at the pots of memories I find

I’m sitting astride a three-legged stool

Milking with pride until my pail is full

I could eat buttered toast all day

Listening to the sally-army brass band play

Contentedly the ruminant is chewing

Tunefully two streams of milk are spewing

Filling the pail with Mother Nature’s brewing

Happy now the big brown cow is mooing

I could eat buttered toast all day

Listening to the sally-army brass band play

The warm milk is close to overflowing

Picking my footsteps carefully slowing

Splish-splash the milk-churn is a-churning

I sneak a little peek the milk is on the turning

I could eat buttered toast all day

Listening to the sally-army brass band play

The sound of a beating a pitter-pitter-patter

A fresh pat of butter is on the butter-platter

The milk-churn is resting retired from its churning

Ooh! Can you smell that delicious smell of burning?

I could eat buttered toast all day

Listening to the sally-army brass band play

Innish by the Bridge



Moffat

A Patient Man