Festive Poetry

Just because it's Christmas doesn't mean I won't inflict some more poetry on you all...

Sunty McClaus - A Doric Christmas Poem

Here's Sunty McClaus o' the clan McClaus!

D'ye ken him? Weel, I hear

He's a cousin o’ thon Christmas loon

Fa's sleigh is pu'd by deer.

He's got a pal called Frosty Jock -

a mannie made o’ snaw.

Wi the kilt on and a tammy

he's lookin awffy braw!

Thigither they hae loads o’ fun

and get in trouble deep,

But they aye come oot the ither side

on their sledgie pu'd by sheep!

Ae Christmas Eve the phone rang.

Sunty’s cousin “You Know Who”

was near dane his deliveries

fan he'd cam’ doon wi’ flu.

"He needs a haun" said Sunty,

"he's left our bit tae last..

But oor sheep ar’nae magic

And the sledgie isnae fast!"

"But even though" said Frosty Jock

"We’ll hae tae help yer freen.

Get him to drap the presents aff

somewye in Aiberdeen.”

So aff they went wi’ sledge and sheep

tae pick up a’ the gifts.

They trauchled through the snaw and ice

for it wis noo blin’ drift.

Then roon’ and roon’ the hooses

Sped the little crew

Dishin’ oot the parcels

Til they were left wi’ two.

A tin o’ funcy biscuits

And a baggie fu' of neeps

Were treats for Jock and Sunty

And the hungry little sheeps.

There also wis a notie

"Keep these gifts for yourselves!

With thanks for all your help tonight,

from Santa and his Elves."

So that is how Sunty McClaus

(wi’ help fae Jock and sheep)

Saved Christmas for the local bairns

Fan they were a’ asleep.

The Christmas Robin

‘Twas cold the night of first Noel.  The fire was barely going
As Mary asked her stable mates to keep the embers glowing.
The ox and ass were both asleep and did not hear her plea
But someone did.  A little bird came fluttering down to see.
He flapped his wings and fanned the flames ‘til fire was burning bright, 

No matter though his chest got burned hot scarlet in his flight.
For helping warm the Jesus child that bird by God was blessed,
And that is how the robin got the red upon his breast.

Watchnight

 

Winter comes with icy fingers touching toes of carol singers
As they sing of Christmas time, out among the frosty rime.

Angel voices, midnight choirs, echo from the snowy spires
as stars glint brightly in the east, shining on St Stephen's feast.

Warm beside a roaring fire, thoughts turn to a lowly byre
Where a child lay in a manger, born to save the world from danger.