In his short life, Robbie (or "Rabbie," as he was sometimes called) wrote what looks like a gazillion poems, songs, and ballads on a variety of topics. (We have his complete works in a leatherbound book that we could use as a doorstop!) He even wrote a poem to a mouse, and another one to a louse that he saw on a lady's bonnet in church. One of his most famous collections is Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, published in 1786.
In honor of Burns' birthday, M wore his kilt on our walk this afternoon. This is the first chance he's had to wear it with his new Glengarry cap, which now sports a spiffy feather:
"Do you think I could write one?" I asked him as we eased on down the road.
"A poem chiefly in the Scottish dialect."
"Sure. Knock yourself out," he said.
By the time we got back to our house, here's what I had:
Bonnie Prince Charlie
Riding on a Harley,
Tearing up the heather,
Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!
All around the Islands,
Up and down the Highlands,
In fair or stormy weather,
Boom! Boom! Boom!
"Not sure you captured the dialect," M said. "But it does have a nice Caledonian theme."
I haven't thought of a title for it yet, but I'm dedicating it to Robert Burns.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RABBIE!