Every four years When MacNicol’s get together They have a grand time With supper on the table And many bottles of wine (Maybe even more) They laugh and they chat It’s quite the social scene Except the guy from London I think he looks mean (Grandpa from the munsters) When the food is all gone And they toast another round You will never see a MacNicol With face pressed to the ground (At least not in public) When the music starts to play And the MacNicol’s begin to dance It’s quite the Scottish scene Not one is wearing pants (A lot of kilts) MacNicol’s on the dance-floor MacNicol’s at the bar MacNicol’s in the lobby MacNicol’s stroll to their car (To steal a kiss or two) In gratitude for this family This poem I compose I hope it gets me noticed And maybe, just maybe, I’ll win the nose
Posted on: Sun, 17 Aug 2014 03:11:51 +0000
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