Red,
Brown,
Gunned down,
A manchine ceased to be
Oxidised
Realised
Brutalised
Catharsis empathised
Our fate it seemed to be
Hopeful
Fruitless
Helpfull
Useless
Your minds bent eye sees me
I lie here shunned
Yearning
Turned
To dust as you do sleep
But one man sees me
Joyful
Insightful
Ecstatic for my bones
Use is deemed
Beyond whats seemed
From rusted parts and skin
Inside what counts
Is what amounts
To what comes from within
The greatest Bard of all Scotia.
Reigning immortal king O peasant familia.
Idealistic and unique commentator.
Born to magic words of any orator.
United differences empathised.
Tuned to the masses and idolised.
Eternal gratitude to our Rabbie.
Tickling our attitude for a party.
Oor Robert Burns O the Celtic.
Rhymer of yarns and purest magic.
Auld lang syne and Scots wha hae.
Beautiful member of the human ways.
Born here and forever after.
Your name is The Bard of Scottish patter.