Burns' Night

It's January 25th, the night we in Scotland commemorate the national poet and writer: Robert Burns. Apart from Scots, he wrote equally fluently in English. His output is copious, and he could churn out a poem at the drop of a hat. Like this epitaph on a dentist's tombstone:

Stranger, approach this place with gravity
For here lies John Brown, filling his last cavity

For 2020, I copy these lines:

O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast

O, wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee.
Or did Misfortune’s bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a’, to share it a’

Or were I in the wildest waste,
Saw black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a Paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o the globe,
Wi thee to reign, wi thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.