A Scots Doric Poem
by Alice Reid
Ma Wee Doctor’s Book
Worry, Worry, Worry.
It’s a habit that ah’ve got;
When reading through a doctor’s book,
Aw the symptoms – ah’ve got the lot!
Ah’ve got a pain, doon near ma wrist,
It’s broken, that ah’m shair;
Accordin’ tae the book,
That’s why ma airm’s sae sair.
Jist readin’ gied me sic a fricht,
Ah couldnae staund the strain;
Relief it cam’, ah’d missed a page,
Ah only had a sprain.
A wheezy chest, is it ma lungs?
Ah’d better hae a look;
Ma mind’s at ease, it’s jist a cauld,
Thank God, ah hiv this book.
Ah wonder if ma hert’s aw richt,
It gies some awfu’ jumps;
And what aboot they glands o’ mine,
They’ve got some wee hard lumps.
Ah think ah’ve maybe got slipped discs,
The pain is in ma spine;
Ah’d better get ma book again,
An’ turn tae page nine.
Richt enough, that’s whit ah hav,
It’s doon in black an’ white;
Ah’d better follow up the cure,
The Doc is ayewis richt.
Ma heid gets sair, ah canna think,
Ah dinna feel too braw;
An’ then ah get fair dizzy,
An’ I dinna drink ataw.
That’s why ah get sae worried,
Wi’ aw the things ah hae;
Ah often really wonder,
If ah’ll see anither day.
But nae matter how ah feel,
Ah can ayeways hae a look;
An’ study aw ma ailments,
In ma wee Doctor’s Book.