The Scottish Hippo by Alasdair Gray
The muckle hippopotamus
spelders in glaur apo’ his kite.
A solid fact he seems tae some.
They arena right.
The hippo’s coorse digestive tract
erodes through frequent emptying.
The KIRK’s the only solid fact
that winna ding.
In gaitherin o’ warldly gear
the hippo often gangs agley.
The KIRK can hunker on her rear
and draw her pay.
The apples hippo gapes tae pree
are oot the reach o’ sic a brute.
The KIRK’s refreshed frae yont the sea
wi’ juicy fruit.
A hippo, fashed by fleshy thorn,
ejaculates in congress grubby.
The KIRK bel-cantos nicht and morn,
GOD is her hubby.
When cloud o’ mirk obscures creation
the hippo wakes tae hunt its meat.
The KIRK’s suspendit animation
can sleep and eat.
Behold the hippopotamus arise,
clap his broad wings and, soaring,
claim the skies!
Angles sing him in,
saints bring him in
In pure flood
of lamb’s blood
he’s laundered neat.
To gold harp
he warbles sweet.
Clean o’ stain
amang his ain
each martyred virgin is his jo.
The auld KIRK
in the auld mirk