AI  Christmas Stocking
by W T Lyall

Ai modern socks can never match
Cos fashion's cheinged for boys.
Ye can turn ai top o' ai ould een up
An' ade fairly fills wi' toys.
Ye could hing ade on ai mantlepiece
Wedged ticht below ai clock,
Then doon ai lum comes Santa Claus
When yur sleepin' lek a top.

An' when ye wake on Christmas morn
Ye're oot ai bed wi' a chump,
Ye see yur stocking - fit a shape
All knobbly humps and bumps.
Ye take ade doon off ai mantlepiece
An' wonder fit ye got,
Cos in ai days o' stockings
Ye couldna ask for a lot.

An' then ye see fit Santa gave
But ye dinna empty fast,
Take ai contents wan at a time
Ye want ai fun till last.
A choclid Santa's first ye see
He's first till be devoured,
A sugarie peeg is next in line
It too is overpowererd.

A windin' car 'ats made o' tin
A bag o' coloured ballons.
An' then a lovely shiny torch
Till examine further doon.
A tattie gun, a choclid watch
A top ye lash wi' a wheep,
A double sided moothy
By now yur deegin' deep.

A chuicy orange in ai heel
An aipple in ai toe,
Some nuts thrown in ai middle
Yur doon as far's ye can go.
Ade michtna seem an awful lot
Compared till ai day ades tragic,
But ai mystery, ai smell, ai knobbly bumps
In ai ould Chrismas stocking wis magic.