With Burns Night coming up I thought I would share this poem I wrote last year that I gave at the 5th Annual Nor Cal Rabble Burns Night Supper and my lovely wife Star presented at our SCD class Burns Night party.

Cheers

Jamie





Immortal Mortal

By Jamie Tanner



Poor Robert Burns
he’s food for worms
and molders in his grave.
Life was hard
for Ayrshire’s Bard,
his years were short but brave.

He was born to toil
hard unyielding soil,
this honest farmer’s scion.
But it was words he would sow
and his fame that would grow
to reap the mantle of poet-icon.

A poor crofter’s boy
who took his joy
in learning languages and lore.
From borrowed books
he gained his first looks
into the poetry that came before.

A handsome man
oft he proffered his hand,
and to many lassies he pressed his suit.
These affairs of the heart
set him apart
as he indulged in romantic pursuit.

Sadly lacking skill
for the land he tried to till
and the farmer’s life he sought to embrace,
Instead, he listened and learned
his mind deep concerned
by the beauty of the commonplace.

T’was the language of the land
spoke by the common man
that inspired Burns’ muse,
and from the honest Scot’s folk
Burns’ imagination awoke.
It was their tongue his poetry would enthuse.

Made a brother mason,
Burns wore the apron,
and his sense of man’s fellowship grew.
That fraternal guild
helped him to build
and spread his works to audiences new. 　

His wee book of verse
filled his purse
and brought him great acclaim.
A literary light,
his rising star shown bright
as he reveled in his new fame.

But this first fame didn’t last
and into debt again cast,
Burns struggled to make his way.
To support his clan
he became an excise man
and in Dumfries he would stay

His heart ailing,
his health failing,
He took on a last great endeavor:
collecting and writing song
in the Scot’s voice strong
to preserve them all forever

On a summer day Burns died
and his spirit away did glide
but his memory and works would remain.
He left earth for heaven
at the age of thirty and seven,
the power of his words would never wane.

So on this night
his words we recite
and we will offer him many happy returns.
For his words still live,
so with our glasses let’s give
a toast to Robert Burns!