O Geordie Mac., this wee while back
I've had this melancholy;
Tae crack wi' you and then pursue
The muse in a' her folly.

For weel ye ken by Scotia's ben
I'd meet ye in the body,
But my auld back is off the track
So here's your health in toddy.

How are the wains wi' a' their pains,
Still skirling roun' the border?
But hark indeed beside the Tweed
They'll hae things weel in order.

Just finished Barke, aye cruel and stark
'The Immortal Memory'
Rab's lack o' purse was aye his curse
But what humanity.

I've joined a group a poet troupe
Tae air my voice and sang;
In their 'free verse' I'll no' immerse
It's no where I belang.

I've tauld them a' in rhymes I'll fa'
That's how I look upon it;
For there is style, aye worth the while
In a villanelle, or sonnet.

Then let's be done my Geordie son
Wi' rhyming sangs and clatter
And nae mair crack aboot my back,
It drives me mad's a hatter.

Here's tae your prose and ither brose
Or perhaps a line tae say;
Guid Christmas cheer for a' the year
And a happy Hogmanay.