A few years ago, one of the Scottish dailies held a competition for people to write a poem in the style of Robert Burns. This one didn't win. It should have.
We came tae Ayr tae see your hoose
And pay oor due respects
The rain was runnin' like a sluice
And drippin' doon oor necks
We saw nae man like you, Rab
Nae lassie like Jean Armour
I don't know where you are the noo
But your better off, and warmer
Do you suppose that, over 200 years after his death, the man thought that we'd still be commemorating his birthday in countries around the world? And that his face would grace countless shortbread tins, and that there would even be a tour company named after him?
Mike (Auchterless)