Let it Burns

A lot of times, people see my red hair and guess that I’m Irish. In truth, the red hair comes from my 1/16th Scottish side–not much, obviously, but it’s a good excuse to swell with Scottish pride. And so of course I need to mention that today is the birthday of Scottish poet Robert Burns. Happy Birthday, Robert! In Scotland, this means celebrating Burns Night and taking part in the Burns Supper. (Any dinner where you pipe in the meal gets my support.) I’ll be packing for SCBWI tonight, so I don’t think I’ll be having any haggis, but I can share my favorite Burns poem.

My Luve is like a Red Red Rose

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry , my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve !
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile!

(poem via BBC)

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