So absent-minded was Major Bare-Pate,
He scarcely noticed this special date.
Then, New Year’s Eve he suddenly thought,
To celebrate - I really ought.

He dressed himself up in his best bib and tucker,
Kilt and Sporran – he looked really pukka
Haggis and Whiskey he quickly found
Then out he went to see who was around.

To the town centre, he went at a terrific pace,
Yet just too fast, he tripped and fell flat on his face.
The haggis got squashed but the whisky was safe,
His sporran got twisted and began to chafe.

A doctor was called but alas the haggis was dead,
But, undaunted, the Major drank all the whisky instead.
The doctor untwisted the sporran with glee,
But the Major screamed and yelled “Let me be”.

I’m going home – there’s nothing to celebrate;
The whisky’s all gone and Haggis met his fate;
My sporran’s all twisted and there’s mud on my kilt,
Still, no point in crying over New Year’s spilt milk!

© Val Gibbs, 8th January 2014