To a Friend Who Acted For Us In Purchasing a Wireless Set Which Needed Adjustment

Dear friend,
I tak' my pen to scrawl a line
To bring it freshly tae your mine
Lest you by ony chance forget
That something ails oor wireless set,
But what, we've failed to diagnose,
Nor it, its secret to disclose.

At times it loodly does complain,
And suffers from internal pain,
But whether liver, lungs or heart,
Or some ither vital part,
I'm no' at yince prepared to say
Nor versed in its anatomy.

Whatever needs to be restored,
We ken it's no' its vocal chord,
For sangs were never sweeter sung,
And, therefore, must be sound in lung.
It boasts a plain and pleasin' voice,
But always claims the right of choice.

And grumbles nane at scores o' miles
If kept within the British Isles,
But asked to tell us foreign tales
It grumbles, grunts and mainly fails;
Gangs either dumb as a protest
Or fails to gae us of its best.

Maist nichts it gives a programme great
At children's oor from Auntie Kate,
And then Big Ben's resoundin' chime
Reminds us of the flight o' time,
And tells us next withoot a swither,
The forecast o' the wind and weather.

And baith the hame and foreign news,
Wi' scientists and statesmen's views,
Tells lengthy yarns tae we get sick o't,
The scores in tennis, golf and cricket.
A' in a voice distinct and clear
Except when troubles interfere.

When then it mak's infernal din
Wi' rumblin's dark and deep within
That fairly tries oor meagre patience
Especially frae foreign stations.
From where, I'm sorry to confess,
It fails to be a great success.

And as we owe it some respect,
It's wrang to treat it wi' neglect,
Or let the poor thing suffer lang
When llittle may indeed be wrang,
And being for a year insured
We fain wad ha'e the trouble cured.

And, Willie, you as agent of it
(Alas! wi' bother, mair than profit),
To try and mak' your trouble less
Please send me on the firm's address,
That they may send a man o' skill
To see and rectify the ill.
Then we'll ha'e no excuse to fret,
But boast a faultless wireless set.