A Farmer’s New Year’s Morning Salutation to his old Fordson Tractor
I found this poem in one of this week's Sunday papers. :)
A guid new year I wish ye Fordie
I could hae ca’d ye Bob or Geordie,
But yer nae bred like a Clydesdale horse,
An tae ca’ tae ye wid mak me hoarse.
In bleak winter days we’ve plod the ley.
In summer days cut the tangled hay.
In autumn bindered the yellie corn.
In springtime harried fae early morn.
Sometimes we’d ca’ the inside mull
If the morning sky was awfy dull.
Or we’d maybe bruise a puckle corn
Tae stop the cattler feelin’ forlorn.
Yer getting auld, ye clatter an’ reek.
Yer pent wark’s chipt, ye’ve mony a leak.
Yer tyres are bauld like a river coot,
An’ yer auld bent lum is thick wi’ soot.
I think I’ll keep ye an’ dae ye up.
Ye never know, we micht win a cup,
Compatin’ at vintage tractor shows,
Whaur they a’ line up in lang nate rows.
Gregor MacGregor. Upper Largo, Fife.
