Small and weird
-
No, I've not* eaten so many fruit slices, tattie scones, haggis breakfasts,
Abernathy biscuits etc etc that I've grown - the Kelpies really have
shrunk!*We...
2 hours ago
As Grethic I am someone who tries to be both green and ethical. The Grethicia is a space to expand my thoughts and add detail to my Twitterings. Strangely on Twitter I am known as Farctum, on Blip I am Placus, on Spotify I am Scribilita and in life Vivia ~ confused? Welcome to my world…
So the illustration at the top is all the fast words and the second one is what happens when you focus on the slow words. Which do you prefer?
![[kreativ_blog.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEght2NkaG-vD86LTk3mpvMa7fTkRfITQ0Q-ebtn_kfva3z8aSjMc25qezj5DaahDSBsjW5Si5vMkoJrc_umBXWKfJHWgQY6JN5JnRDp5v-_0VkcMNXo6_goiGZb0Olrb5smMbcJZl4Pq8d_/s320/kreativ_blog.jpg)
Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her-
Sae fine a lady?
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whaur horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it-
The verra tapmost, tow'rin height
O' Miss' bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as ony groset:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum.
I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss' fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't?
O Jeany, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin:
Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin.
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!