This is my humble tribute to the memorie of Robert Burns..Scotland's dearly luved bard..

The Bard...
.............

Guid evening tae ye chosen few
wha jine me in this hallowed pew
tae say a ward in prayers few
for oor land deid bard,
wha fell when in his ain young prime
an’ by his makers hand divine
was skelped oot o’ lyfe,
releasing his wretched painfu’ bodie
frae warldly stryfe.

There’s them wha thocht oor Rab uncooth
a plooman wi’ a poets mooth
an’ sic a hellish drunkards drooth
that quenched the very fyre
o’ maister Nick, that horny deil
wha laid his hoof ‘pon oor young cheil
wi’ his Achillies weakness
for strong and dandy demon drink
slabberin’ in drunken meekness.

But I maun envy Rab’s affliction
for his simple Doric diction
wards o’ truth an’ nane o’ fiction
just honest emotion,
for in the path throughoot his lyfe
when lovin’ anither man’s ain guidwyfe
his heart by Eros shot,
he wept the tears for lyfes unfairness
for illicit luve sae hot.

But aye, he was a rantin’ lad
a lusty thrusy rovin’ lad
a laughin’ winkin’ plooman lad
wha melted hearts,
in fields o’ barley, skies above
he skelt his seeds in acts o’ luve
wi’ lips sae tender,
his trysts were many
wi’ the female gender.

He loo’ed the breist o’ the hielan’ lass
but tears o’ pairtin’ tyme wad pass
his luve for Celtic maid wad last
but for a heartbeat,
for, t’was bonnie Jean wha’s luve devour’d him
in swaddlin’ sighs an’ silken sweet whim
his luve it glowed,
an’ he gied tae her his Burness name
their luve o’er flowed.

I’ll raise my glass tae the Communista
wha saw the grander social vista
frae cottage humble,
I’ll bless his ever outspoken ward
this plooman coorse, this tender bard
this Scotsman Poet....

Graham..