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Saskatchewan nights are long and cold,
On those windblown plains so stark;
And Angus needed someone warm to hold
And cling to in the dark.
So long he’d lived on those plains alone,
He was lonesome to the core;
His dreams and night-sweats made him moan
And left him craving more.
His yearnings for a woman’s touch
Consumed his tormented mind;
Said Angus, “Ah’ve suffer-r-red fa-r-r too much;
Fo-r-r-r nineteen year-r-r-s Ah’ve pined.
The bachelor’s life’s na’ worth a damn;
Ah’ve got to find a wife,
Who’s just as lonesome as Ah am,
To bring pleasure to ma life.”
And so it was one autumn day,
While on the throne he sat,
That a classified item caught his eye -
In the Saskatoon Plains Gazette.
The “Personals” section was just chock-full
Of folks he’d like to meet;
And giving his trousers an upward pull,
He lurched forward to his feet.
With pencil and paper clutched in hand,
Into the kitchen he burst,
And sitting at the table planned
His own ad verse by verse.
“Mature bachelor, young at heart,
Old-fashioned, yet witty, and gay;”
(“Not a bad star-r-t,” Angus thought, “on my par-r-t.”)
Oh, this was a glor-r-r-ious day!
With sweaty palms and furrowed brow
Angus struggled with each word,
Fearing they’d not sound right somehow,
And his yearnings would go unheard.
Wanting to sound down-to-earth, yet clever,
Each phrase he chose with care;
No man made a finer effort ever,
To lure a woman to his lair.
He poured his soul out on the page;
His desire was so great.
For to Angus a lass of any age
Would make a bonnie mate.
“Old or young or fat or thin,”
He wrote, “I do na’ care;
“Ah don’t give a hoot what shape you’r-r-r-e in,
Ah’m handy at repair-r-r!”
He carefully folded the page at last
And addressed the envelope,
He stamped it, and the die was cast:
In the mail lay his fondest hope.
“Somewher-r-e ma true love’s out ther-r-r-e,”
Said Angus with a leer,
“And after she sees ma letter-r-r-r,
In no time she’ll be her-r-r-e.” |
Twelve kilometers down a dusty track
He trudged to post his mail;
As the letter was added to the mailman’s sack,
Angus bragged, “This canna’ fail!
Ah’ve or-r-r-r-dered me a wife today;
Ah expect she’ll be her-r-r-r e soon .”
And as the mailman drove away,
Angus hummed a bawdy tune.
He watched the mailman fade from sight,
Then headed for his shack
To spend another restless night;
Oh, he hated to go back!
He scrubbed that den with pure lye soap
And tidied up the place;
From his tarnished mirror a glimmer of hope
Shone forth from that lonely face.
Through weeks of waiting the Scotsman paced,
But no letter came for him.
He began to think his scheme a waste -
Hopes for true love grew dim.
And every time he made the trip
To meet the mail, he knew
The mailman thought he’d “lost his grip”
And was laughing at him, too.
When Angus had all but given up,
One day the mailman came,
And said with a grin , “You’re a lucky pup!
Here’s a letter from some dame.”
And sure enough in the mailman’s hand
A lavender envelope lay.
Angus’s knees grew weak; he could hardly stand;
It took his breath away.
With trembling hand he took the letter
And held it to his breast;
Beneath his woolen sweater
His heart was pounding in his chest.
The lilac-scented pages brought
A shiver of ecstasy;
And Angus, whose cheeks were flaming hot,
Could only stammer, “G-G-Gee!”
He tore the letter open then
And hurriedly started to read;
“Dearest Angus,” it began,
“You’re just the man I need.
Like you, I’m lonely, too, and sad,
But I feel our time is ripe.
Oh, I do hope you won’t think I’m bad,
But, Big Boy, you’re my type!”
Ah, the pleasures conjured from a simple phrase,
“I’ll give my all to you...”;
As raging prairie fires blaze,
Angus warmed up, too.
But he chilled as he read the final line,
And his features hardened like flint.
“I’m on my way, and you’re all mine!
Your lover forever.........
Clint” ! |