Yi brazen wee terror, whit energy yi’v got
Nae ever content tae stay in wan spot
Just gonnae play nice, leave yer pare gran tae rest
Or a’ll go get yer granda, yi adorable wee pest
Dinny yi go thinkin’ he’ll no be irate
Wi aw yer carry oan, yu’ll huv surly seal’t yer fate
Ocht yer a wild wan, an yer fair awfa brave
If yi think that yer here, free tae misbehave
Ma wurd whit a racket, yi aye make quite the noise
Gonnae bewheshed, or yu’ll leave yer granda nae choice
He’ll take in his arms tae the naughty wanes place
When he catches yi screamin’ wi that mischievous wee face
Aye yer aw full, o’ laughter the noo
But yi know fine weel, whit he’s gonnae do
Here he comes tae get yi, wi his cheeky grim
Wi threats tae chuck yi straight, intae the wheelie bin
Cameron D Hamilton 10/03/2017
[The preceding poem was written for my Grandpa who recently passed away. I wrote this and two others to be recited at his funeral. This particular piece was read after the funeral when family and friends came to celebrate his life at his favourite place, ‘The Irvine Golf Club, Bogside’.
My grandpa’s favourite threat when us children were getting a little too boisterous, was to put us into the bin at the end of the garden. He’d go as far to scoop us up into his arms and take us playfully kicking and screaming before letting us go. It’s a very fond memory and I had the privilege of not only being part of it but seeing him continue it with my younger cousins that came after me.
My grandpa was an admirer of Robert Burns so I felt it only fitting to write this in Scots.
Once again, regardless if you like this, thank you for reading.]