His Dream
I often think I'd like tae be
a grocer, aye, that would suit me.
Servin' cheese an' cake an' jam,
An' tapioca, pickles, ham.
Raisins? Sorry, nane the day,
they're never lang in gaun away.
A hauf -loaf wrapped? Shairly mam,
s'nice day, noo, an' hoo's yer man?
That's yer tatties an' yer meal.
Still got the cauld yet, Mrs. Neal?
Now, butter, sugar, marg, an' tea,
That's let me see – it's eight an' three.
Nae carrots Mrs Jack but say,
there's tins o' soup an' barley brae.
(Just look around you madam do.
In hauf a tick I'll be wi' you)
There's lovely smells a' roon aboot
frae kipper, veal an' jellied foot.
Twa eggs a book folk is your share.
The mannie Web'll gie's nae mair.
Whit's that dear? Boxes fur yer mice?
Naw hen, thae tins are ful' o' rice.
And so I think the time would fly
If only grocer's man were I.