Poetry Corner

It's culture time. Here is a poem written by me. It's in Scots, but I'm providing a translation.

Lament fir a deid spyug

Ma wee spyug's deid
Ma wee spyug's deid
It wis a muckle pun' o' mince
Fell oot the freezer
Hit him yince
Atween the e'en o' his sweet heid
And noo he's deid.

Pair wee spyug
(Ah cried him Shug)
Sic a sad demise.
He scarcely hud the time tae wince
When yon big doad ae frozen mince
Cam hurtlin' fae the skies
And dealt wee Shug
That mortal slug
Richt atween the eyes
And sent him oan a wan wey trip
Tae Burdie Paradise.

Translation

Requiem for a dead sparrow

My little sparrow is dead

He is an ex-sparrow

It was just over 0.45 kilograms of finely chopped beef

Which plunged from a front-loading device for keeping food fresh, by maintaining them at a temperature close to zero degrees centigrade,

And collided with the aforementioned bird once, and once only (but that was enough)

At a point on his cranium - of affectionate memory - equidistant between his medial canthii

And from then onwards he continues to be in a state of unlife.

Unfortunate junior member of the Passeridae family

(I had previously given him an appellation which was the diminutive of Hugh)

How tragic was your passing

The number of milliseconds allowed for him to flinch approached zero

When the aforementioned future sunday lunch at a temperature of zero degrees centigrade

Descended at an acceleration due to gravity of 9.98 metres per second squared

And imparted it's momentum fatally through the skull and cerebral tissue of my late avian friend

Targetted on the aforementioned point of impact

Immediately causing him to depart on a non-returnable excursion

To his own personal avian afterlife.

(Which is also a play on words on certain elaborately feathered inhabitants of Papua New Guinea)

I hope that made everything clear?