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a poem by rabbie written for the gurn from nairnHow wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite, How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white, How Genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction, I sing: If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, I care not, not I-let the Critics go whistle!
Ae fond of a guid gurn
where ever you may belet your gurn gan free
an ode to ayeright ye chieften o the tv-less race with muckle plans to change the face o bankies, beach and pathy's space. y'er fondness for a little gurnaboot the ganging's on in nairn will warm the hearts for those who yearn. news from there beloved Nairn (i know a pretty crappy ending)
Doc,I am of course honored by your ode to meBut never was a great one for poetryI haven't managed to get past the first lineMaybe you could help, for I sorely need a rhyme?"Wee quackin beastie by the name o’ duck"
Wee quackin beastie by the name o’ duck,is full o sadness coz iright is stuck,to finish his ode to his pal called doc,who now hides his breadcrumbs in a dirty old sock, to keep abody happy and seagulls at bay,and then the wee baby ducks live one mere day
Doc,The good folk of Nairn should dig deep in their pockets and commission a statue of you to commemorate you fine writing skills - oh, I see you already have a monument.How about publishing a book of your work then? Or a plaque on the river at the point where you try and feed your wee pals the ducks?"Here we were fed by the doceveryday at one o'clock"I'm sure you could do better yourself?
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