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CHRISTOPHER MEREDITH

HÆMFÆRIN

Mæstaft hit wis swieties.

Fruit pastils I didna mukkil kær fir

Bit I manna lat’im ken.

Settin up his mæt-tin ‘po da winniksill

Haalin till da bukkil a’is kot wis lowst

He’d rekk dim doon t’quhaar I redd mie komiek.

I wid takk dim nevir skoitin up.

Daniens, fir nae ryght ærtlie ræsin

Dir kam a plastik shuttie.

I ræst me dan. Hit wisna onieboadie’s birtdæ.

Mukkil an swart, hit wis wuppit t’da prentit kærd

’at nemd’it. Thompson’s Sub.

He shaad me quhittin a pært hit wis’at wis da magizien.

Hit wis aathentiek, as da kærd telt’it.

An he telt me, aswiel, Hit’s braa. Barsyz an wæjght,

da verie pieriemæst snekk is troo, da spit a’da æn

‘at I hed.

I yaalkit tanks an haalt’it lows

An spøliet aa da shaamir.

He span awa an swaggit haand afoar his fæs.

Na na! Du manna em jun thing

fir me.