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ROBERT BURNS
A TRIBUTE
Our Scottish Prince, rustic rogue of
rhyme.
Sainted, painted and pilloried through time.
Yer cottage it stands, a tribute its true.
How the braw bonnie lassies o Ayrshire loved you.
A common man, wi a romantic notion.
Yer pen was filled wi frivolous potion.
A man o' men, wrote o' love and spite.
Blushin' girls cheeks an' satirical bite.
Scots tongue and dialect, that was straight fae
the heart.
Ye wrote "A Man's A Man For A' That."
Yer poems appealing tae the worldly masses.
Yer ghost still lingers in drinkin' mens glasses.
Rabbie, the toast o' the town and the haggis
addressed.
Wi' a wee dram o' whisky, we're now fully
refreshed.
Yer words were like snow on a loch, stream or
river.
Just a moment o' white but not lost forever.
Was a Prince, died a pauper at only thirty seven.
Yer poems are read at supper-time in heaven.
So "fair ye weel and now we'll severe."
But yer memory will stay wi' us
forever.
©William Willis 2011 |
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