OYSTERCATCHER...AN ARBROATH TALE

 OYSTERCATCHER.... AN ARBROATH TALE

















 It must be said, with its beak all red
 The oystercatcher's a strange bird.
 A limpet can't sleep,
 When it hears the bleep,
 A more alarming sound yet to be heard. (well for molluscs anyway).

It wasn't the great skuas call
That made Vince nearly fall.
The cliffs through a sandstorm we steered,
 I'd lost the watch it appeared.
A needle in a haystack..(that's all)

To compound our sorry time,
Our faces covered in grime.
With sand in our lugs
We bought some creme eggs
And covered our faces in the fondant slime.

Not many people take pleasure
Seeing lads in a graveyard taking leisure.
The Scottish gardeners they did stare
As we chased an agile hare.
And we caught the bugger for good measure.

We could forget all the strife,
Because we saved a birds life.
A young guillemot being thrown about in the sea.
Stripped to our pants Vince and me,
Performed miracles in the waves of Angus (not fife).

 Then on the cliffs so steep,
 Once again we heard the plaintive 'bleep'
"Oystercatcher!" I cried and Vince started to dance,
When a man said to his wife "They must be from France".
We laughed for a week with no sleep.

Phil Hall    February 2012