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Poems from Francis Kerr Young

Jist mash some tatties in a pot
an mix in butter, flour, an saut;
roll oot the dough an cut in sections,
Fire up yer griddle, guid an hot,
ye should be fine wi thon directions.

Wee bit savoury tattie scone
lies saft an tender in my haun,
an its sae warm, my fingers flutter.
Across yon griddle, hosts are struan:
Pass me ower a daud o butter.

Three-cornered scone, yer sonsy shape,
tempts my lips while my fingers drape
doon yer wings o broon-black dapple.
Bit soon that tasty tattie crepe
will disappear richt doon my thrapple!

Tattie scones an a cup o tea,
prized by The Queen, yersel, an me.
Or fry up twa tae break yer fast,
wi bacon an eggs, yell agree
tattie scones are a great repast.

The best o tatties cam frae Ayr
where Rabbie wrote o Scotland fair
an cad us a, a pudden race,
Haggis micht rule bit, hae a care,
the tattie scone could tak its place!

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