This is a fun wee bairn’s poem from Scotland, circa WWII. FYI: a
lum is a chimney.
I’ve been feelin’ awfu’ worried,
Since I heard my mither say:
“The sweep’s been awfu’ busy
An’ hisnae’ been oor wey.”
She tried her best tae get him,
But the mannie couldna’ come,
An’ fine I ken that Santa Claus
Will no’ come doon oor lum!
I’ve heard him on a windy nicht,
Gang whistlin’ ower the hoose,
An’ I’ve been guid as guid could be,
An’ quiet as ony moose.
But I’ve got an awfu’ feelin’
That Santa winna come tae me on Christmas mornin’
‘Cause we’ve got a dirty lum!
I’ve written letters every nicht,
An telt him whaur I bide,
An’ that I want a spitfire,
Wi’ a hale air crew inside.
But, if he comes, I’m awfu’ feart,
He’ll maybe no’ get oot.
The sweep’s no’ been,
An’ maybe he’ll be chokit wi’ the soot.
So, maybe if ye see him,
Or hear him ony nicht,
Tell him I’m behavin’,
An’ daein’ my lessons richt.
An’ say it’s no my mither’s blame,
She’d aye the sweep afore.
So, would he bring my aeroplane,
An’ jist – jist leave it at the door?