a quick sketch.

You're born in Ayrshire
you're father is a poor tenant farmer
you learn to read and work the farm
you begin to write poetry and romance
the ladies - Highland Mary and the rest

Soon enough, you start to offend the local Kirk
with your randy ways and your satirical poem
Holy Willie's Prayer

It's hypocrisy and injustice you hate the most

Life is hard, your father dies
you're on your own and struggling
you think of emigrating to Jamaica
but then your book, 'Poems, Chiefly
in the Scottish Dialect' becomes
a big sucesss. Your brother Gilbert says
Don't let it go to your head!

You're courted by the Edinburgh literary set
Ploughman poet, they call you
ploughing the fields and the bonnie lassies
your humour and compassion win you many friends
the young Sir Walter Scott thinks you highly shrewd
and the best of men

You resurrect the auld Scots songs
and play the fiddle in your wee cottage
jigs and reels and strathspeys
you're proud of your musical heritage

Robert, I used to hear you playing
as I walked passed your hoose
Rab, we aye had a drink the gither!

You relocate to Dumfries
and become an Exciseman man
it's here you'll meet your end
rheumatic heart and sheer exhaustion
though your wife is pregnant again

Robert, you wrote poems sang songs
encountered the stark supernatural
witches and bogeymen
in your long johns, Autumn's trousers

like Tam O' Shanter
you were an honest friend ...


Robert Burns, this is your life.