Sticky Fingered Jane
Canny remember this Lass's name,
but fur the poem's sake let's assume she's Jane.
'Jane ' this per wee soul had fingers lighter than a blidy feather,
aw things within her sicht yea had tae tether.
Wartime is no jist a time fur wurry or sorrow,
Certainly no fur Jane, aw things she wanted she jist borrowed.
Aye aw things she'd borrow without askin' if she could:(
frae clothes pegs,newspapers an' oany flippin' type o' food.
Funny thing tho' is ,she wis hard tae catch,
wae Jane, things vanished, even oot o' awbidy's veggie patch.
Noo this went oan fur sum munths -even a year.
every week sum wee thing wid jist disappear.
Everybidy jist kent is wis this lass Jane,
bit ivery bidy's attempt tae catch her wis jist in vain.
Yea kid be talkin tae her an' she kid steal yer blidy teeth,
nae kiddin' this lass wis beyond belief.
We lived in number three oor wee But'N'Ben,
Jane lived in five or wis it ten?
Nae matter- she lived in tapmaist flat,
jist hersel' withoot luv an' no even a wee tabby cat:(
No oor family didnae want tae drop her in the poo,
jist teach her a lesson ma dad said he wid do.
So ma Dad an'ma uncle Harry made a parcel wae a few frills,
An' left it oan the neighbour's doonstairs windae-sill.
Sure as itchy flees oan a wee cat's bum,
it wisnae lang before Jane did come.
She walked past the frilly parcel here oan the windae-ledge,
ma Dad an' uncle Harry watchin' -nerves oan edge.
Quick as a blidy blidy' flash,
that said parcel unner Jane's airm an' oaf she dashed.
Up the stairs tae her flat in number ten.
dad an' uncle Harry waited fur whit they didnae ken.
Suddenly the level three tap windae o' Jane's wee flat,
an' oot came that undone frilly parcel like a blidy scalded cat.
It landed at ma Dad an' uncle Harry's feet,
whit wis in that parcel a canny easily repeat.
Dad an' uncle Harry wir in fits an' tears,
their laffin' muscles wir in tap gear.
A wee clue tae the contents - Coo's S#!^#,
stull wonderin' eh? Rhymes wae Kite.
Noo cross ma hert this story is true,
cos' we had a dairy roon back which had lotes o' coo's poo.
As for Jane - weel she kent we knew she had fingers light,
never again did she pick up parcels full of S#!^#.
Aye the last wurd rhymes wae Kite
The Auld Yin.
Copyright © Alex Gardiner | Year Posted 2012
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