Midgies bite a family of hirsute Celts
Pa’s a bald Professor of ethnology
With hair combed over his pate
Like seaweed on a boulder
His sprogs play in the heather like rooting pigs
Grunting in brutish glee
Somewhere, there’s a tin of irn bru
A packet of shortbread purchased in Dunoon
A book about the Druid lesser deities
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem