And here's a draft anyway, of a poem in Scots. I hope it's not too hard for anyone. A moose is a mouse, not a thing with horns. We don't have them in Ayrshire.
Tae a Poet
Big-bottomed, blustering, lumpen lummox,
Wha eats enough tae fill twa stomachs,
And flattens a’ the humps and hummocks
You chance tae see,
Your poetry’s enough tae flummox
The likes o’ me.
You say that mice an’ men together
With every sort of fur and feather
Can change the world and change the weather –
Is that your art?
I call it high-falutin’ blether.
Not worth a fart.
An’ if you want an end to strife
‘Twixt man an’ moose,
Get oot ma field, get oot ma life,
Get oot ma hoose.
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