Stag Party
By Anonymous
O Lords of misty moor and ben!
O monarchs of the mountain glen!
Crowned with your proudly branching span
Surveys your kingdom while you can.
Where Affrie’s corried glen divides,
In Atholl’s furthest forest rides,
Amid the firs that fringe Loch Shin
Will feed the herds that fed the Finn.
Their splayed and hairy hooves will pound,
Your ancient Highland stamping ground
And Stalkers (snug in hats with flaps)
WIll hunt the quarry of the Lapps.
Will later landseers art portray
Proud Scandinavian stags at bay,
And (taxidermic’ly prepared)
Will foreign heads delight the laird?
Will other antlers grace the walls
As hatstands in suburban halls-
Sad pointers to the fact that you
Have yielded to the Caribou?
Shall reindeer, blue of flesh and blood,
Reign where the ruling red deer stood,
Or will one more invasion fail
And wiser councils yet prevail?
