Laird Poems - Poems about Laird

... Alright have to admit that whole drole Bazball or Baz Bat cool cat vibe…rabbit out of hat tribe.. is taking its toll..sunk in a hole..losing it’s goal and soul..not being a vitriol troll..maybe nee......

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...Well what the Dickens is going on? My choice as the greatest scribe and voice of our tribe Charles not himself a cricketing man but definitely a fan Twas…the tale of two skippers and two cities ......

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... Big Ben chimes again With Bazball zen One of those men From special stock Shepherd of the flock Hewn from strewn Volcanic rock From New Zealand's Southern Isle But only there for a wee whi......

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...El Coco Definitivo... Get myself together get a change of atmoshere never mind the weather only we can do this here don't say you love me when nothing you say is true you and I together start......

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...Why do these guys quit before seventy? After achievements Life on Earth empty! There was to be a Macgregor Laird: Before sixty-one years to rest laid... For my avid interest in History, I coul......

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...The Spaniel A Spaniel that uses its head Can tell when its owner’s unfed So instead of a duck That is down on its luck Will deliver a pizza instead The Afghan Hound The......

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...The Bichon Frise The Bichon in chiffon looks so frou That the crowd duly wowed has to coo ‘Til the dog starts to droop And its owner to scoop Some acutely embarrassing doo The ......

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...With some apprehension, he prepared to write; with his muse’s dissention, there’d be no insight, and thus, by extension, no joint, shared delight. With her added dimension, he’d dared lofty heig......

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...The drunk hogs the path where the public walks Then hogs the air with his nonsense talk His breath smells of ale His eyes look stale This Scottish male In a Scottish gale Just gets wet Along ......

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...***I personally don't indulge in "soothing weed" but the Dutch and many others certainly do*** Amsterdam ......

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...Hear Me, O Muse, no moos or cluckings, muckings or horns of fog Do sound the clamoring claxons of the bardics that be written by William McGonagal o’ the Bog, That Laird of Lamentations Disastr......

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...Love of my mother's Scotland knows no bounds, yet she, like me, was destined far to roam. Her wistful music of the isles surrounds my everyday, her voice so soft and low. Sweet songs of love, and......

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...Gang awa frae tha Glen Tae a fearsome place; Where tha darkened souls Hae na gleemps o’grace. Where tha work must fit A new tongue and race. Gang awa frae tha Glen for a wheel. “Tis for cert......

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...Don't lie to me. Don't half-truth to me, like some craven jar, wide of mouth and full of capricious weather. And never sing to me tunes not of your own making I am not yours to pawn, as a wast......

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...His name was James Skene He came from Aberdeen Sent down to Edinburgh to die, The brother of the Laird Land and power shared Everything that Scotland could supply. But inward treasure capture......

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