As I turned the corner
Of my eye met with ruins
Of a castle in the centre
Of a capital city
As I climbed the bridge
Of my nose met with an aroma
Of Island whisky
Of the finest vintage
As I introduced the tip
Of my tongue to the tip
Of my fingers at the end
Of tasty Scottish fayre
As I heard bagpipes in the swirl
Of my ears with a rendition
Of Auld Lang Syne
Of the dawning of a new year
As I left I shook the hand
Of a man in a kilt
Of lambswool and tartan of the hue
Of his native clan
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