by A. Lawrence Vaincourt

The neighbor folk invited me to down to the city hall

Where in honor of the Scottish bard they planned to have a ball

For it would stir my torpid soul, he told me with a grin

When, to the skirling of the pipes, they brought the haggis in

I confess I knew but little of the poet, Robbie Burns

Or even what a haggis was, but felt 'twas time I learned

So although I have no Scottish blood I felt it was alright

And in my best new outfit I went to the hall that night
 

Now the thing that most surprised me as I walked into the hall

Was the fact that many men there had no trousers on at all

My friend, he then assured me it was indeed the plan

That those with Scottish forbears wear the tartan of their clan

Now I couldn't claim a tartan and for this I was quite pleased

For I knew at least my trousers hid the hair upon my knees

So I sat down at a table, with my back toward a wall

And t'was then I saw the piper just beyond me in the hall

With the pipes slung o'er his shoulder and his drone pipes all a'tilt

He'd an honor guard behind him and they all were wearing kilt

The piper spanked the bagpipes, they began to squeal and wail

Much as a little pig might if you trod upon his tail

The chanter and the drone pipes then joined in a mournful dirge

And to leave the piper's presence, I confess, I felt the urge

Into the hall the entourage then marched with pomp and state

The piper and the escorts and the haggis, on a plate

The piper and the honor guard wore kilt and fancy dress

While on the plate the haggis lay, a sodden, lumpy mess

They marched to the head table where, with some grace and flair

T'was presented to a fellow who I saw was standing there

Who then addressed the haggis and I'll not repeat the words

For he spoke a foreign language that I'd hitherto not heard

The words he used were not in French, now that much I could tell

And I'm certain they weren't English for that language I know well

He spoke to it with reverence, as one might address a king

While on the plate the haggis lay and answered not a thing

He then removed a dagger from the waistband of his kilt

And in the poor wee haggis, he plunged it to the hilt

Then as the crowd applauded, why he looked about and said

"You realize I did that to make sure the damn thing's dead."

A diner turned to me and asked, "Is there any Scotch in you?"

I replied, "I've had a double, but I think I'll make it two."

As I sat and sipped my whiskey, humming Scotland the Brave

I could sense my Gallic forbears were turning in the grave

And as the scotch soaked in and I began to get a glow

I felt sorry for the haggis who'd been dealt a mortal blow

So I'll make a small confession even though it causes pain

Though the party was quite pleasant I would not go back again

For it is my firm opinion that it takes no courage, great

To stab a little haggis lying, helpless, on a plate
 


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web site at: www.vaincourt.homestead.com

1989 A. Lawrence Vaincourt
Reprinted here with written consent of Randy Vaincourt
 

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