SCOTCH MIST by Christopher Matthew

[trinkie]

from.. 'Summoned by Balls'

SCOTCH MIST
by Christopher Matthew

By the ninth at Trimbly Bottom,
Near the sands of Hell's Bells Bunker,
Stood the shop of Old McHaggis,
Son of mighty Jack McHaggis.
Right beside it, in the car park,
Stood the Mercs and shiny Volvos,
Telling of the wealth of members.

Way beyond it stretched the fairway,
Stretched the green and wicked fairway,
Stretched the tenth at Trimbly Bottom.
There the wrinkled old McHaggis
Taught the keen young Alexander -
Took a cut-down 7 iron,
Silver-shafted, leather-handled,
Polished bright with kitchen wire wool.
Taught him how to swing it slowly,
Smooth as Islay's best malt whisky,
Murmuring soft words of wisdon:
'Gang ye weel, ye bonnie laddie,
Gang a-gley, my lee-lang fiere,
Wa' wi' ye wi' bickering brattle,
Gie's a hand, ye sleekit beastie,
Blessings on your sleery dribble.

We weel rin aba' the brae-side,
Tak na heed for auld acquaintance.
Willie waught tak' two thegither,
Scots wa'hey for houghmagandie!
May your tass for aye hang low.