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Friday Poetry Corner - The Big Effen Bee

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    Friday Poetry Corner - The Big Effen Bee

    The Big Effen Bee by Matt McGinn



    He kept bees in the old town of Effen
    An Effen beekeeper was he
    And one day this Effen beekeeper
    Was stung by a big Effen bee


    Now this big Effen beekeeper's wee Effen wife
    For the big Effen polis she ran
    For there's nobody can sort out a big Effen bee
    Like a big Effen polisman can


    The big Effen polisman, he did his nut
    And he ran down the main Effen street
    In his hand was a big Effen baton
    He had big Effen boots on his feet


    The polis got hold of this big Effen bee
    And he twisted the Effen bee's wings
    But this big Effen bee got his own back
    For this big Effen bee had two stings


    Now they're both in the Effen museum
    Where the Effen folk often come see
    The remains of the big Effen polis
    Stung to death by the big Effen bee


    That's the end of that wee Effen story
    'Tis an innocent wee Effen tale
    But if you ever tell it in Effen
    You'll end up in the old Effen jail
    Last edited by AlfredJPruffock; 29 December 2006, 10:39.

    #2
    Not a brilliant English cuz its a translation ....




    They taught me to regret the past and its wounds.

    Whatever I saw before my eyes saw you was a wasted life.
    How could they consider that part of my life?

    With your light, the dawn of my life started
    How much of my life before you was lost
    It is a wasted past, my love.

    My heart never saw happiness before you
    My heart never saw anything in life other than the taste of pain and suffering.

    I started only now to love my life
    And started to worry that my life would run away from me.

    Every happiness I was longing for before you
    My dreams they found it in the light of your eyes.
    Oh my heart’s life .. You are more precious than my life
    Why I didn't meet your love a long time ago?

    Whatever I saw before my eyes saw you was a wasted life.
    How could they consider that part of my life?

    You are my life that starts its dawn with your light.

    The beautiful nights and the yearning and the great love
    From a long time ago the heart is holding for you.

    Taste the love with me bit by bit from the kindness of my heart that is longing for the kindness of your heart.
    Bring your eyes close so that my eyes can get lost in the life of your eyes.
    Bring your hands so that my hands will rest in the touch of your hands.

    My love, come, and enough.
    What we missed is not little, oh love of my soul.

    Whatever I saw before my eyes saw you was a wasted life.
    How could they consider that part of my life?
    You are my life that starts its dawn with your light.

    You are more precious than my days.
    You are more beautiful than my dreams,
    Take me to your sweetness--
    Take me away from the universe
    Far away, far away.
    I and you far away, far away. Alone.

    With love, our days will awaken
    We spend the nights longing for each other

    I reconciled with days because of you
    I forgave the time because of you
    With you I forgot my pains
    And I forgot with you my misery.

    Your eyes took me back to my days that are gone
    They taught me to regret the past and its wounds.

    Whatever I saw before my eyes saw you was a wasted life.
    How could they consider that part of my life?
    You are my life that starts its dawn with your light.

    Comment


      #3
      The Memoirs Of A Scotsman With Alzheimers.

      © John McCormick, Bass Lake, Ontario, Canada 1996

      I sairly miss the pibroch,
      As it gaily builds its nest.
      The haggis smells so sweetly,
      As I tuck it in my vest.

      The tumshy's in my fondest dreams,
      As it sails up the Clyde,
      And I oft-times wish, I could have a dish,
      Of bonny Kate McBride.

      The porridge that my mither used,
      To paint the kitchen door,
      The touch of cockie leekie
      As it runs around the floor.

      And if my memory serves me well
      It was only yesterday,
      When the peever beds, stuck out their heads
      In the merry month of May.

      To hear the cry, of a wee mince pie,
      Wi' a tattie on its knee.
      The whistlin' kilt that ma faither built,
      Is a thing I long to see.

      I dearly loved the oxters,
      We used to catch at Leith,
      I dinnae see them half sae weel,
      Since they took awa' ma teeth.

      I sometimes wish that I could see
      A kipper on the wing.
      A wulk, or a clootie dumplin,
      I'd love to hear them sing.

      But maist of aw', I miss the coos,
      Wi' the bonny coloured feather,
      The thistles and the butts and bens,
      As they run aboot the heather.

      I dinnae ken what else I miss,
      Or what I'd like tae see,
      But if ye aw' have read this far,
      Ye're twice as daft as me.

      Comment


        #4
        Aye I did like the ...what was it called again ..erm oh yes ... The Memoirs Of A Scotsman With Alzheimers.

        Comment

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