On Monday, I walked the golden sea on 

Troon beach, as it called my name with grace

and glory, and tempted me to look at its 

gleaming aura.

On Tuesday, I scored par on the very grass

of Troon Links golf course, and the sun 

glistened in my eyes like a sizzling sausage.

On Wednesday, I witnessed the beautiful 

Scottish thistle with purple thorns like 

A knights sword, loving leaves like 

like almighty shields and a strong stem 

like the rope of an adventurer.

On Thursday, I strolled doon Temple hill

and a wee rascal seagull nicked me lunch.

On Friday, I touched the golden squared 

sausage from Connors butchers as 

the light takes over and wind wooshes 

in my drooping face as I drool to get my

hands on the slick slice.

On Saturday, I smelled the copper blend

of a good auld glass of strong Irn bru 

like the soul of a silver angel.

On Sunday, I poured me heart and soul 

into making a batch of haggis, neeps and tatties

and after devoured the whole thing as if 

it was an intense relay race.