Oh kindly reader harken well
A sad and sorry tale I tell
Of Hamish Haggis, young was he.
Whilst listening to his MP3,
Away from home and hearth he strayed
Too long amongst the braes he stayed.
Oh foolish haggis nought he heeded
His parents good advice much needed
That haggisses should never roam
Too far away from friends and home.
Far distantly the hounds were baying
Two hundred highland kilts a’ swaying
Their threat approaching ever nearer
Their terrifying howls much clearer.
Young Hamish ran, oh how he scampered
With rotund shape, much speed was hampered.
His spindly little legs were aching
But still the Hunt was overtaking.
Pursuant of their grim intent
The Haggis Hounds had found his scent.
The Highlanders with joy did swoop
Into their haggis net did scoop
Young Hamish soon was gathered in
With others of his kith and kin.
The guests were gathered in the hall
In festive mood they one and all.
Awaiting with anticipation
The Annual Burns Night celebration.
The Pipers played a sad lament
In grand procession round they went.
The Laird he raised his dagger high
The haggisses prepared to die.
With neeps and tatties on a plate
Poor Hamish Haggis met his fate.
From this sad tale on next Burns Night
Take pity on poor haggis’ plight
Eschewing meat choose if you can
The option vegetarian.
Janet Johnson
• Burns Night at St George’s Church Hall is on Saturday 27th January. Tickets £13.
