Tattie Patch
There's something nice, I ayeways say,
if, at the end o' fretfu' day'
ye stan' and gie yer een a fill,
on jist yer ain wee tattie drill.
They're mebbie earlies, mebbie lates,
a'm never shair: forget the dates.
But still ye kin admire the shaw,
when tattie patch is lookin' braw.
It's mebbie in oor buid tae be
a tiller o' the land, ye see.
Hauf shut yer een, an' gaze on them,
ye'll think ye see some acres, ten.
That's hoo it seems, at least tae me
wha' has fower raws – or is it three?
Nae maitter; gin there is nae duds,
the wife'll bless me for the spuds.