Cold winds on the way
to the church of Lamington,
the cold few and cold air within,
the cold words the preacher had to say
and the coldness in how he said them
exacerbated, worsted, wausted
the sensitivity of a Scotsman paying a visit:
Ye'se a' be het ere I come back,
said he, i.e. I'll be back not
till all 5 colds run hot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem