My dad's half scots so New Years Eve
You could'nae be a sassenach
We'd stay up late for Hogmanay
See old year out, a new one in.
He'd take a dram and call us 'bairns'
And we'd be doing highland flings
And swirling round as if in kilts
Accompanied by the scirling pipes.
And Andy Stewart on TV would host
The Beeb's White Heather Club
And once a year we'd all be Scots
And join in all the Scots laments.
We'd keep one eye upon the clock
We might be tired but none could sleep
Before its hands were at the top
And we had let the New Year in.
And come the hour we'd cheer, we'd hug
Our mum would give each bairn a kiss.
Then arms would cross for Auld Lang Syne.
We'd sing to let the New Year in.
Then every window, every door
At dad's insistence we'd fling wide
And we'd feel the chill as the old year went
And a cold wind brought the new one in.
And we'd look for a neighbour to
Cross our hearth with lucky coal.
Ideally someone dark and tall
Should cross it first to bring us luck.
But it often happened I recall
Our sassenach neighbours were all in bed
So our celebration would fall flat
We'd go to bed, my dad would drink.
NOTE
A sassenach is a non Scot
Hogmanay is New Year's Eve
YOU ARE READING
Second Wind
PoetryHighest rank #12 in Poetry Second Wind is an eclectic collection of mostly light hearted poems but often has a serious message and takes the occasional side swipe at politicians and those in power.
