“Summer” A Poem, By Stan The German Shepard
In Honor of Robert Burns’ birthday this week (Happy 263rd, Bobby)
The Passing of Scottish Wind
Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie,
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie.
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin,
There sterts to stir an enormous wind.
The neeps and tatties and mushy peas,
Stert workin like a gentle breeze.
But soon the puddin’ wi the sauncie face,
Will have ye blawin’ all ower the place.
Nae matter whit ye try tae dae,
A’bodys gonnae have tae pay.
Even if ye try to stifle,
It’s like a bullet oot a rifle.
Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair,
Tae try and stop the leakin’ air.
Shift yersel frae cheek tae cheek,
Pray tae God it doesny reek.
But aw yer efforts go assunder,
Oot it comes – a clap o’ thunder.
Ricochets aroon the room,
Michty me, a sonic boom!
God almighty it fairly reeks,
Hope I huvnae pooped ma breeks!
Tae the loo I better scurry,
Aw who cares, its no ma worry.
A’body roon aboot me chokin,
Wan or two are nearly bokin.
I’ll feel better for a while,
Cannae help but raise a smile.
“Wis him!” I shout with accusin’ glower,
Alas too late, he’s just keeled ower!
“Ye dirty thing!” they shout and stare,
I don’t feel welcome any mair
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My roses are red
And your violets are blue
There is no fourth line
(This is a haiku)
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That one’s a thinker 
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