Ane day upon a heather Haggis lay
With bathe as ane and ane as bathe, a heap
They running ‘round the mount, a game to play
ane way the males, the other females leap.
They flap vestigal wings not meant to fly
But ‘scape the ballance (Scottish banket plate}
Like ostrich, emu, never touch th’ sky
Tho’ try they might as minstrals fain relate.
They romp on triple legs, the story goes,
by day asleep, cavortin’ through the night,
a myst’ry real or not? Ahh, no one knows,
we seek them while awake – they out of sight.
For e’er shall I recall this Scottish tale
whil’st dining on benis and brie with ale.
