He’s the minister ca’d Poe frae the Parish o Ee,
wha loves the winter ahn likes tae skate free,
so pou the haun’le ahn let the boy flee.
Either the birk he’ll crash or near the bull’s ee,
and tae ye I’ll tell which, the target or tree,
when speirin through oor spy-gless tae tell what I see.
birk: birch, birch tree.
He is the minister called Poe from the Parish of Ee,
Who loves the winter and likes to skate free,
So pull the handle and let the boy fly.
Either the birch he will crash or near the bull’s eye,
and to you I will tell which, the target or tree,
when peering through our telescope to tell what I see.
The Skating Minister.
So the next time you’re in the National Gallery looking at the skating minister by Sir Henry Raeburn you will know the truth behind the ice.
The Sentient Beavers.
And you know now of the crimes against the sentient beavers. The poor creatures hunted to extinction, their intelligence for naught.
Now all extinct along with what their technology might have taught us. All lost. All because of a stupid winter drinking game, bad poetry and too much awful beer
This drawing came about because of a recent news report of Michael Gove fully supporting the re-introduction of the Beaver into the UK.
Yet again conflating England with UK. Beavers have been free in Scotland for years.
Only six miles or so from where I stay there are beavers and a beaver dam.