Bore da, Dear Papa,
you didn’t teach us Welsh,
it wouldn’t get us very far
We must do something else.
We must speak London English
with never an ach y fi,
but then you took us all oop north,
where we gyan hyem fur wor tea.
next you sent me off to France
pour encourager les autres
and naur, now-in-a-minute
it was Latin’s capering goats.
The Shortbread eating primer
became my daily fare.
propelling me to Italy,
tho Greece I didnt dare.
But then I came to Scotland.
No more linguistic hell,
the Gaelic sounded marvellous
and Scots wis braw as well
and as for Scottish English
oh aint it la-di-da.
And now I’m ready to recite
Mae cymylau glau dros Wyddfa.
Nos da, Dear Papa,
I couldn’t help but be
a lingo-speaking native
in whatever host country
Nos da. Dear Papa
what language do they speak
Where you are now? Not Hebrew?
then perhaps tis Ancient Greek
Sally Evans lives in Scotland and has Welsh connections. She has had several books of poems published including Poetic Adventures in Scotland (2014) and the Bees (2008).
Your One Phone Call 