The Waabit Whirlie

Fraser, Ford

Oot in the backie it stans alone,
Nae botherin onybody unless it gets blown.
Fan abody's asleep an tucked up in bed,
It squachs an it scrachs like a craw that needs fed.

By day it comes tae still sturdy an tal, 
Wytin fur mither; a lang time pal. 
Laden wi claes an een marless sock, 
Is eunuch tae gie caz fur sartorial shock.

The oors flee by; noo athing's dry,
Wi ma oot o' sicht am timptit tae try.
Dangle an dirl till am riddy tae boke,
She shouts fae the windie, "I'll skelp yer doke!"

Ower the eers it brocht muckle fun,
Noo bint an bucklt it's close tae the grun.
So it's cheerio tae the whirlie as it taks its last bow,
An fit like tae the neebors ower a bit tow.