The scones he made

Just off the Esplanade

Were baked freshly every single day

Now James has left

And we are bereft

He's gone from the Peerie Shop Café

I cannot think

Without his Cullen Skink

And his shortcrust quiche lorraine

What can I say

About his mackerel paté?

We will never taste the likes again

He was occasionally grumpy, I'm not lying

He supported some Embra team, there's no denying

He put up with rude newspaper reporters

But he was even kind to animals, and Rangers supporters (sometimes)

I have cheese and fruit

And a plain scone to boot

Saved in the freezer for future generations

I have the recipé

But made by me

They just cause dental devastation

To the Olive Tree

Temporarily

Where the coffee and the food are splendid

But Old Lerwick's grief

Is beyond belief

We've lost the scones on which we all depended.

Copyright Tom Morton, 2023