23rd prompt Domina Temporis: Haggis
Haggis
They all settled down in the Baker Street parlour,
on stool, rug and cushion, and sofa and chair.
The table was groaning with mugs of hot chocolate,
mince pies, Christmas cake…lots of fine festive fare.
An annual occasion, the hosts, Mrs Hudson
and tenants…a thank you for assistance that year.
An Irregular gathering of street wise young urchins,
a chance to indulge in some warm Christmas cheer.
Silence while food is shared out, then a question
from Arthur, a gingerbread man in his hand.
"Doctor Watson, I think that your family's from Scotland?
I overheard something I don't understand.
'Piping in the haggis'.. a market stall holder
said that's what the Scots do on Robbie Burns day.
So what is a haggis and who's Robbie Burns
and why are they piping it in, anyway?"
"Och!" Doctor Watson, adopting an accent ,
which causes Holmes' eyebrows to climb to his hair.
"The haggis, my lad, is a wee highland beastie
living out in the glens and the hills you find there.
A shy little creature, which lives with its clan folk,
a dozen or so…siblings, father and mother,
and in order to graze on the slopes of the mountains
it's legs on one side have more length than the other.
It's also a sensitive soul, is the haggis,
it's fond of reciting old poems and song,
can quote Robbie Burns, and has mastered the bagpipes…"
A brisk interruption from Holmes, "This is wrong!"
He prepares to launch into a monologue mocking
his friends flight of fancy, describing instead
chopped heart, lung and liver and onions and oatmeal
enclosed in sheep's stomach, and boiled …clearly dead.
But…he stops, looks around at the eager young faces,
at Lestrade's suppressed mirth and his friend's wicked grin
and adds " The good doctor, forgot many details…
the haggis clan tartan, the pride of their kin."
And thus the strange epic gets wilder and wilder,
of past haggis glory, the battles of old,
and Watson sits back, and just listens, delighted
at Holmes' mad inventions…tall stories well-told.
~0~