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Iain and Jennifer's Nuptials

The Lyall brigade and Bartholomew band

Both made their way to Ayr,

Where Iain and Jennifer, hand in hand,

Had determined their lives they would share.


Now Iain, our groom, is a local lad

And he’s been here since he was a pup.

Doon the watter in Rothesay live Jenn’s mum and dad,

Though you’d think that, from Ayr, it was Up.


The couple both pledged, as those gathered could see,

Commitments that have to be kept.

While Adam, their son, on his Grandpa Bob’s knee

Cuddled in and peacefully slept.


The minister, Fraser, a jovial chap,

At Ayr’s St Columba kirk,

Told jokes while wee Adam continued his nap,

Making even the sternest face smirk.


As a symbol they both lit their candle of love

To make sure they’ll always remember

The vows that they made and the things they dreamed of

This year on the eighteenth November.


The wedding reception was next don’t you see,

And expected to pass without fuss.

We were told Western House was the place we should be,

But someone had mislaid the bus.


Auld Ayr is renowned for its honest men

And famous for bonnie lasses.

They were smiling when Maxy, the father of Jenn,

Discovered he’d brought the wrong glasses.


It looked like his speech might just come to an end,

All those words that now couldn’t be read.

But nobody missed whatever he’d penned,

Cos he spoke from his heart instead.


The Best Man was Alan, that’s Iain’s wee bruv.

We were braced for the tales he could tell.

His stories were funny but written with love,

And laughter soon filled the hotel.


Good company, dancing and ample fine wine

This must have been one of the best.

It was no time at all till we sang Auld Lang Syne,

Then we all took our leave with the rest.


November 2011
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