POEM TITLE An Ode Tae Oor Garden Of Eden
POEM
Snuck awa’, beyond the banks ae the Forth in Blackness on Sea, a mere dwarf in
the shade ae thon world famous bridges.
Nae too far aff the beaten track, lies the eighth wonder ae the world, just tae the
left, then the right a few wee smidges.
Just aroon’ the corner, the greatest attraction next tae Blackness castle, or better
kent locally, as the ship that never sailed.
There’s oor barry wee village, steeped in history, that tae the world, must be unveiled. It’s spoke aboot, a’ aroon the nation, as the maist famous place ae the gatherin’ ae
the drouthy congregation.
‘The Lobster Pot’ is oor wee garden ae Eden, nestled right at the heart ae ‘The
Square’.
This rare wee gem’s the beatin’ heart ae the community, so let yir feet walk ye in if
ye dare.
If yir doon the seaside a daunder, let the wind blaw ye in, it’ll only tak’ a totty wee
gust.
Failin’ that, flare yir nautical nostrils, an’ use them as a sat nav tae the door if ye
must.
Seek oot the sign that creeks in the wind, declarin’ ye hav’ arrived at ‘The Lobster’s
Pot’.
Oor wee gem, aint nae gentleman’s club, so bring yirsel, bring the wife, bring the
bairns and the dug, cos inside, ou’ve got the lot.
For all in sundry, fae near an’ afar, it’s a barry wee popular haunt.
It’s for dug lovers, trawlermen, an’ even random wee gadgies, just oot an’ aboot for
a jaunt.
So be ye a local, a walker, a busy wee fishwife, or a martyr tae the malt.
Fetch yirsel’ in, an’ order whit ever ye fancy, fae oor well stocked wee liquid vault.
Be ye an oot a tooner, or a wee cyclist, trundlin’ alang the John Muir Way.
Or wan ae they raj loony dookers, dippin’ their carcass in the Forth, ae a cauld New Year’s day.
A’ kiddin’ aside, wherever ye bide, an even you random wee gadgies.
That’ll no matter, get yirsel’ oot an aboot, an’ dinnae miss oot, ‘cos a welcome
awaits all ya wee radgies.
Rule number one, first and foremost, get yir first foot o’er the front door.
Ou’ve a’ the ingredients tae mak’ whit ye want, come up tae the bar an’ ou’ll pour.
Sit inside, sit ootside, or stand yirsel’ up proud and grand at the helm.
It’ll no matter tae us where ye park yirsel’ doon, ou’ll be considered a fully-fledged member ae ‘The Lobster Pot’ realm.
Be ye a well-travelled, seasoned, sophisticated wee gadgie, ‘The Pot’ is sure tae be
yir favourite waterin’ hole.
‘Cos oor gid auld Scottish folk music, will tak’ a grip ae yir heart an’ yir sole.
A ‘body’s mindin’ their business, so gie it laldy, let yir feet dae away.
Mind ye, havin’ said that, if these walls could talk, they’d tell a mean tale or twae.
As ye sip on yir nips, belt a tune fae yir lips, hae a reel and a jig tae oor tunes.
Join in the traditional Auld Years Night antics if ye want, an’ conga beneath thon
big silvery moon.
Hae coffee, hae cake, or a plate full ae hake, hae whitever yir wee heart desire.
Hae a pint, hae a nip, hae a loony dook dip, or park yirsel’ doon by the fire.
Whatever yir fancy, ye can eat and drink hale an’ hearty, until ye hav’ hid yir fill.
Dinnae panic aboot the lowie, the last thing ye’ll worry aboot is the bill.
Ou’ve soup o the day, ye can chill at the bay, we can nip ye o’er a high tea.
Ou serve fine beef, an’ lobster delights, an’ a’ the delicacies belangin’ the sea.
If truth be told, ye’ll no be disappointed, so come away in and get yirsel’ anointed.
An’ as the sun sets high o’er the Firth ae Forth, an’ the bairns saunter awa’ up the
road.
That’s yir queue tae crank it up a gear, come on, surely ye ken that’s the code.
When the other hauf dictates yir leavin’, ‘cos there’s jobs at the hoose tae be done, dinnae look sae forlorn.
Keep the heid, ‘cos yir a lang time deid, an’ just promise ou’lll dae them the morn.
With choices a plenty for suppin’, ou’ve got Aspell cider, Guiness or Belhaven Best
on tap.
A’ pints are pulled by a skilled haun, noo, ou cannae dae better than that.
Located just west ae South Queensferry, ‘The Lobster’s Pot’ is the place tae make
merry.
So be ye a jigger or chanter, or just here for the banter, inhale the merriment.
Ye’ll wonder how ye uncovered this gem, it’s no just a myth, ye’ve been sent.
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