our collection of poems by
Glaswegian Poet & Writer Stuart McLean
To a Brussels Sprout
O, Brussels sprout sae green and round,
Ye sit upon ma plate,
So innocently mystifying,
The cause o’ much debate.
Some say ye taste like camel droppings,
While others think you great,
I’m sure your sitting there a wonderin’,
Whit’s goin’ tae be your fate.
So let me tell you o’ so quick,
As nervously you wait,
That I find you e’er so loathsome,
So you definitely won’t be ate.
Copyright Stuart McLean : from No'