To a Mousse

O queen o sludge, maist royal mousse,

yir minions bear ye ben thi hoose,

O quakin sheikess, lavish, loose,

              dessert o fable:

ye pit thi bumps back oan ma goose

             and shauk ma table.

Ye lang cloacal loch o choc,

grecht flabby door at which Eh knock,

and wi ma spunie seek a lock

             tae mak ye gape,

ye flattened, tockless cuckoo clock

             that drives me ape.

Come let me lift ye tae ma mooth

and pree yir pertness wi ma tooth –

ye slake ma hunger and ma drouth

             wi wan sma bite:

come pang ma toomness tae thi outh

             wi broon delight.

Let ane and aa dig in thir spades

and cerve oot chocolate esplanades,

and raise thir umber serenades

             at ilka sip:

sweet Venus, queen o cocoa glades

             and thi muddied lip!

W.N. HERBERT

pang: stuff; toomness: emptiness; outh: utmost.