Tim Train: ‘Tae the glowrin’ ghoulies…’

Tae the glowrin’ ghoulies intent on filching the private letters of poets efter they are deid

With apologies to Rabbie Burns – and none whatsoever to his critics

Ye critics, wha daur weet yer whistle
Dabbling in my ilk epistle,
Gruching not the private gristle
In your searches –
It does naething tae gar my fissle,
Ye leering Lurches!

Nae matter that the poet’s deid,
His life’s his ain, when’s done and said –
Ye cannae a’ gae aff your heid
At a’ his scribblies,
Wee mousies, filching crumbs o’ breid
Awa’ for nibblies.

I’ll ain it maks life mair exciting
Tae grope anither’s private writing
Tae wave abuin your head while citing
My P’s and Q’s –
Ye barely can restrain frae shiting
Your own trews!

I’ faith, I was nae perfect poet,
Nae perfect person, and ye know it –
My ain life tale will amply show it –
Fu’ o’ blunders,
All gold that wis on me bestowit
Went aye asunder;

Ye hae nae need to go a-delving,
Like some wee midget, crabbit, elven,
Midst a’ the letters in my shelving –
Shopping lists!
I pour a pot, ye tak the leavings –
The point clean missed!

Nor need ye act sae snarling-surly –
Let me unfold tae ye a ferlie,
Ane truth in a’ life’s hurly-burly –
We a’ offend –
We a’ hae times whaur life gaes curly,
Round th’ bend.

Sae what, if I’ve a secret yet?
For ye hae mair, nane could forget!
But dinnae get yourself upset –
For I ken weel,
The meaning o’ your private debt,
An’ I’ll no tell!

An’ if ye sneak an’ scrounge upon a
Wee private screed like some auld Nonna,
Weel, haud your wheesht, Gran, while I sconner,
An’ hae my bane! –
For tho’ it be not tae my honour –
Faith, ye hae nane!

Tim Train