"tinsel" poems
Oh how I hate
this time of year,
with the stupid songs
and holiday cheer...
Annoying bell ringers
outside the store,
and the tacky wreaths
hanging on the door.
Cardboard calendars
filled with waxy treats,
ice and snow making
death traps of streets.
Frazzled parents
spending more then they should
on entitled kids
who are far from good.
Fake smiles & wishes
in the "spirit" of it all,
the empty shelves-
the crowds at the mall.
The hour long line
to see Santa the phony
who falsely promises
an x-box or a pony.
Having to gather
with family who annoy,
gifting another cheap
Chinese-made toy.
Fire hazards
strung with tinsel and lights,
tensions leading
to fun Christmas fights!
Secret Santas-
holiday parties for work-
ugly sweaters
making you look like a ****
The stress of having
an enormous list
and a tiny budget
just makes me ******
No, nothing seems jolly
or merry or bright...
Oh how I can't wait
till post-Christmas night!
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
Later at the same address
A storm of words reaches flood stage
A couch is bobbing in the currents
towards its mangled ruin-nexus
of matchsticks in cyclonic flow
among the renegade
trash
hanging
from the limbs like tinsel
Meanwhile
chair heaved through her door
Like the river
I am not above my rage
at this stage
of more than enough....
Clever daughter's got my goat
Turns my words on dimes
Lays into me
her score of blame
Each blow to drop me further
presses all my buttons at one time
despite the flashing
Warning! Warning!
“Fine! Fine!”
She blows-out through the afternoon
right past me
in a torrent of curses
A stubborn perfect storm
of words
has taken out parental dam
and blown out toward the Bay of Freedom
to the sorrows of her day
The river may crack its whip
But its got nothing on her
nothing is left standing
in her way
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
trip up the island to see all the folk
monopoly, pong => pig 'n a poke
crystalline glass with dark bitter ale
Santa is looking a little bit pale
cherry red cheeks from a chilled chardonnay
one sailing wait for the talk of the day
drum sticks and dressing are the pick of the bird
chestnuts and brandy for gravy being stirred
brussels and taters are pulled from the bake
pears in the salad bring memories of Jake
sparks from the fire with rich amber glow
grey hair and wrinkles will come...don't you know?
gingerbread man with a white icing smile
candy cane schnapps (with its seasonal style!)
pine cones and tinsel that cover the tree
carols are humming from churches and streets
cold winter nights are the best of the year
chocolate and eggnog await with good cheer
a heavy thick fog approaches the sound
the comforts of Christmas, with joy all around!
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
THERE'S RUDOLPH, FROSTY, SANTA CLAUS AND GOOD OLD EBENEEZER
THERE'S CAROLS SUNG BY EVERYONE FROM KISS ON THROUGH TO WHEEZER
THERE'S CD'S OUT FROM NAT KING COLE, THE BOSTON POPS HAVE TWO
THERE'S ONE OUT NEIL DIAMOND WHICH IS STRANGE BECAUSE OLD NEIL'S A JEW
THE STORES HAVE TINSEL EVERYWHERE, THEIR TREES TOO,LOOKING NICE
THERE'S WRAPPING PAPER, CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND EVEN PLASTIC ICE
THEY ATTACK YOUR SENSES CONSTANTLY, THEY MUST THINK I'M A FOOL
FOR ALL THIS STUFF IS ON DISPLAY, BEFORE THE KIDS GO BACK TO SCHOOL
THERE'S A RASTAFARIAN SANTA CLAUS WITH DREADLOCKS KNOWN AS "STONEY"
GENETICALLY ALTERED TURKEY MEAT THAT TASTES JUST LIKE BALONEY
PEOPLE DON'T BUY CHRISTMAS GIFTS THEY SEEM TO JUST GIVE MONEY
SO THEY GO SHOPPING BOXING DAY, AND THIS I FIND QUITE FUNNY
THE CHARITIES ARE ON THE PHONE AND AT YOUR DOOR EACH NIGHT
THEY WORK YOU WITH SOME CHRISTMAS GUILT, AND SAY "IT'S ONLY RIGHT"
TO DONATE TO UNFORTUNATES AND THEIR FOLKS NEED IT MOST"
AS THEY FLASH THEIR SMILES, FAKE I/D'S BEFORE THEIR PHONY BOAST
PEOPLE SHOP AND BUY AND BUY AND THEN THEY ALL RE-GIFT
MOST TIMES YOU'LL GET CHRISTMAS CAKE, THAT'S REALLY HARD TO LIFT
YOU WORK O.T. AND DO YOUR BEST, YOUR CHRISTMAS CASH TO SAVE
AND YOU SMILE WHEN YOU GET YOUR GIFT, AND IT'S THE ONE YOU GAVE
CHRISTMAS IS LESS FESTIVE AND TO ME IT'S GOTTEN RATHER CLINICAL
WITH SCHEDULES MADE AND SALES AND THINGS, IT'S MADE ME RATHER CYNICAL
TO SAY WHAT CHRISTMAS REALLY MEANS, I READ THOMAS ACQUINAS
BUT INSTEAD, I'LL USE A QUOTE FROM SHCULTZ'S PROPHET LINUS
..."AND SUDDENLY THERE WAS WITH THE ANGEL A MULTITUDE OF THE HEAVENLY HOST PRAISING GOD
AND SAYING "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOODWILL TOWARD MEN.""
AND THAT IS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT....PLAIN AND SIMPLE.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
when thou hast taken thy last applause,and when
the final curtain strikes the world away,
leaving to shadowy silence and dismay
that stage which shall not know thy smile again,
lingering a little while i see thee then
ponder the tinsel part they let thee play;
i see the large lips vivid, the face grey,
and silent smileless eyes of Magdalen.
The lights have laughed their last;without,the street
darkling awaiteth her whose feet have trod
the silly souls of men to golden dust:
she pauses on the lintel of defeat,
her heart breaks in a smile—and she is Lust….
mine also, little painted poem of god
7.6k
When Christmas shopping is finally done,
wrapped gifts lie ‘neith a tree
that sparkles bright with tinsel and light
for everyone to see.
Each gift has been selected
with thoughtfulness and care.
Toys and such will mean so much
like all the gifts we bear.
But let us keep within our heart
the much greater gift than these.
One from above, with God’s great love
should bring us to our knees.
A gift of birth to all on Earth.
A gift that’s far from small.
To everyone, He gave His Son…
The greatest gift of all.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:25 AM UTC
* soft spoken intro *
*The tree,
With its lights,
***** and tinsel,
Garland, excitement,
Of these nights,
The mistletoe and a star…
Ornaments,
See the candy canes,
Icicles,
And a door wreath,
On a cold,
Snowy Christmas Eve!
Toys of Elvin-creation gleam, faces of the children they smile and beam, pitter-patter sounds of feet stomp -ing; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Santa Claus and Christmas-time, sing a-long with our cheery rhyme, nothing ever feels so fine; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Spicy scent of pumpkin pies, hear the reindeer when his sleigh arrives, toting presents that jolly guy; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Santa, St. Nick, Sinterklaas, around the whole world in one night -no pause, and a childhood feeling that’ll never be lost; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Tally-Ho! Jolly-fun! The night ain’t over till Santa’s done; a night of magic you won’t believe, it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
It’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
The traditional Christmas Windows of Wonder
Were set to be unveiled at five
This meant to the children and parents
That Santa was set to arrive
Each year on the eve of the annual parade
All the stores in downtown did display
their annual Windows of Wonder
And the town was abuzz all the day
Children staring, windows frosting
Their mouths open wide like their eyes
Christmas was captured in an 8 by 10 box
With gifts piled up to the skies
Christmas presents of every sort
Trees and tinsel, lights and *****
Children staring, frozen stiff
Christmas wishes behind plate glass walls
Parents and children watched the parade
Waiting for Santa to come
In between all the floats, there were still the displays
As the children who all stood there numb
Toys and mechanics, robots and dolls
Trains and race cars on tracks
The children all stared and they dreamed of just how
Santa would get all these gifts in his sack
In the midst of the crowd was a blonde, little girl
A good breeze could just blow her away
She'd been hovering there, looking at one small doll
And she'd been there for most of the day
The parade, it passed by, but she never did look
she knew Santa was not here for her
There was only one thing that had captured her heart
And that was the doll, that's for sure
The other kids looked, made their lists in their heads
Ready to tell Santa their list
but, this little girl stood alone from the crowd
She was cold and her cheeks were ice kissed
The parade ended late, and Santa went in
took his chair and he met with the throng
But, this girl stood aside, never moving on up
And the Santa, knew something was wrong
He called her by name, which gave her quite a start
She was scared, but she moved at his call
She sat on his lap, and he reached down behind
And he gave the small girl the small doll
Her face lit the room, more than any display
She said "Santa, just how did you know?"
He said, "Sarah, my dear, it's as plain as can be"
"It's as easy as making it snow"
He put her back down, clutching her doll to her chest
And she walked to the front of the store
but, before she went out, she turned back to say thanks
And where he was, there was Santa no more
Is it magic to think that this Santa was real?
Or did this man know just what he should do?
He made Sarah's Christmas, by giving that doll
And I'm sure he made many more too
The Children of Christmas stare wide eyed all day
Dreaming hard of when Santa will call
But,, off in the corner of the chlly, young crowd
Stands a girl, with her new Christmas doll
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
Stuffed full of toys and ribbons,
Tinsel and baubles,
Santa and his reindeer,
Deliver to all,
Presents for children,
For their mums and their dads,
For Aunts and Uncles,
Nans and Granddads,
There’s perfume and clothing,
Chocolate and sweets,
Santa delivers the nicest of treats.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
To have them shipped across the sea,
sitting like ornamental drops
tinsel strung around your eyes
pocketed the tree
walking down sunset avenue
reeking of bamboo stalks and water chestnuts
looking for a place to submerge your treasure
with a rattling breath do you deflate
And the Oak trunk that grows unimpeded
hanging her branches
caressing the Spaniard shingles
the clay missionary tabs
touching the stucco with a golden blade
of sunlight
cutting a thousand little strips
to hang about the face
moving a thousand miles a second
stopped in place with the quiet repose
of a yoga state
humming and shimmering
yet let me be sweet oak tree.
And I wander through the canyon boulevard
between the rocky cliffs and the endless riff
of surf-rock echoed off skate parks
and riding the PC
highway hair bedraggled and snaked into next week
lingering bonfire on the cotton shirt
plant for plant
*** for tat
seed to breed
Now dance, you and me.
Insinuation
drooling salivary tongue full
bacon
pigging out on burgers
getting red-eyes from vegans
smoking plants
murderers
We squirt,
relish on the act of dying
all things dying
choking life second by second
dying to live.
Staring at neon fins lining the gravel lot
Koi flickering beneath the celestial night
Suspended pondwater
pondering
In surfce tension
the deep mysteries of life
Tracing the snake through the winding streams
we watch atop the rooftop
Gaia
Taking in the burgeoning
Ocean of incandescent tangerine
and Peyote-light
Cacti hidden somewhere between
the quiet slumber of mindless streets
aligned by formless hands
Drinking the mescaline
air
Twisting the nightly moments
as locks of hair
I curled them, slipping, within my fingertips
tracing the long winding road of Tao
along her shoulders
Enraptured by her sensual bliss
When I finally drifted along the clouded memories
of divine rumbling eyes
she disappeared into the sky
blinking along the Jet turbines
Never meant to be mine
for more than a night
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
a bottle of scotch had bad dreams.
bullets twitch, junk sick
in 3 inch thick
mustard ****
toe nails clipped from yeti
lay strewn about the **** stained corpse
of a motel six dixie cup -
root canal trophy,
next to
a black fez
with scab tassel
upended.
down in it. belching apnea
propaganda
and belladonna
waiting for curious george
to find a shotgun
and a yellow
hat
and a brick banana.
blowflies inhale the rank damp
of a fresh ****
the odd dog whines
like a clown in -
a blender.
[ the ]
house wins
with a marked card; jabbing fat fingers
into acned rosacea
bloated with sleep lack
and mortgage
back stab
chasing twenty ******
with a hollow point
pull from an acid
flask
while hailing a black cab.
tinsel sutures
stitch eyelids as a mercy
shattered bone knit
hand-grenade
cozies
old glory, at half mast
half wasted
fifty stars, no light
dragging on
the grounds of immunity
to do a line
of coke stock
with a basset hounds'
finesse.
your taxes at work
in columbia,
hiding from a lost farm
in Idaho
your american dream
turning tricks in shanghai
for a counterfeit
egga roll
your meme, devoid
like an ice cube
tombstone
your freedom, parking cars
for italian escorts
smoking skin flutes
for ferraris
and white teeth.
your integrity, sold to a hedge fund
for astroglide and a pez dispenser
packed with prozac
pressed by ' Jose the butcher' s abuela
in a narco slum
that ain't seen radio
since cinder blocks
had wings.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
Every year at Christmas
The tree goes by the wall
I drag the **** thing from downstairs
And I tug it down the hall
The lights go up with tinsel
The ornaments and star
Then I go downstairs and knock one back
Behind my little two tap bar
I've done it now for forty years
Each year, the tree and lights
The tinsel and the ornaments
To brighten up the nights
The cards I get go on the wall
No baking do I do
I go downstairs and have a drink
Sometimes I might have two
The kids, not here, they have their lives
I get a call on Christmas Day
It's far to far to come out here
And there's just no room to stay
The boys have hockey, the girls as well
So they won't be coming soon
They play their first game at three
So I get their phone call right at noon
I put my little Cornish hen
In the oven for my meal
I've got some frozen veggies
And a Christmas ******* for the "feel"
I sit alone at Christmas
I watch the telly, have a beer
It's not the same with out you
It's not Christmas, you're not here
Still every year the tree comes out
I put it where you'd say
We'd move it at least fifteen times
Until it found a place to stay
I drag the decorations out
I've not yet bought something new
I'm here alone at Christmas
With my memories spent with you.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
Curled beneath the Christmas tree,
On this snowy Christmas Eve,
Lay my daughter, nearly three
Upon this perfect bed.
Asleep and warm in footed wear,
Tinsel static-ed to strands of hair,
Glistening lights ‘gainst skin so fair,
Halo her youthful head.
There she dreams of dreams her own,
That circle ‘bout her life, her home;
Doesn’t fear the world unknown;
I pray such times remain.
With eyelids’ flutter, weaves tomorrows,
To fill with splendor, not of sorrow,
From her, such vision I will borrow;
And will live my life again.
Nestled lone, in face of fire,
Breathing deep, this sweet admire,
With new eyes see all my desires,
How life has blessed so far.
Then, with scent of piney resin,
Awakens precious Christmas present,
Blue-eyes sparkle, sleepy crescents,
The babe beneath the star.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 5:03 AM UTC
The crew of ****** all hide their own secret loneliness. At every port the deserted dance halls beckon, and there they dance with familiar ghosts. At twelve midnight sharp the spirits disappear along with the tuxedoed band and the music dies leaving red white and blue tinsel, miniature plastic flags, and balloons that glide and bounce to a solitary, prolonged note.
The sailors cease spinning and their arms drop to their sides. They drown in bottles of *** in search of solace. They rarely find barely a taste. And so, in frustration they fight and draw first and last bloods. Now, in scuffed shoes and torn clothes, with damaged pride, they stagger arm in arm back to ship.
The water laps and licks it’s tongue like a cat at cream and the crew whisper breath rings in the chilly air.
Master Chief Petty matron mother waits on deck, rolling pin in hand, kicking backsides into cabins.
The ship bobs and dips in rhythm to sailors heaving snoring chests, and there they sleep, fly catching open mouthed, hugging their pillows in desert island dreams.
Copyright Marc Hawkins 2009
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
i saw my little cat in my christmas tree
taking of the baubles and bringing them to me
dropped them at my feet all placed upon the floor
then gently running back to go and get some more
he climbed up to the top and brought the fairy down
with her magic wand and a lovely golden gown
then he got the tinsel rolled and rolled around
in between the tinsel he was truly bound
he managed to escape undone it from his head
crawled in to the corner and jumped into his bed
his little game was over his eyes began to close
he curled in a ball to have his little doze
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
Collectively dismal
Dreadfully sinful
Covered in tinsel
Was a sunken dimple
A quick nibble
Elongated ******
Playfully twiddle
Covered in spittle
Quick to belittle
Before her acquittal
It seemed so brittle
Quite noncommittal
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
'Twas Christmas again and the tree was up with tinsel all around.
But by the weird behavior of my cat, there was tinsel where it shouldn't be found.
She was dragging her **** across the floor in a most peculiar way.
Like something was wrong or she had an itch or needed hemorrhoid cream right away.
I caught the cat because I knew this behavior was not right.
So I lifted her tail and, just as I thought, beheld a terrible sight.
A little piece of tinsel stuck right, well you know where.
I then knew I had a task to do that I would not do on a dare.
I held the kitty in my arm and went and found a glove.
And prepared to do what must be done but definitely not out of love.
The kitty's strange behavior was more than I could allow.
Dragging her **** across the floor like a tractor drags a plow.
So with kitty in my arm and her tail in my hand,
I grabbed the piece of tinsel and pulled gently on the strand.
I tried to be careful so the tinsel would not break.
But when I pulled, her little **** clinched."Oh for goodness sake!"
It was quite a sight to see, this twisted tug-of-war.
I think that I am winning! Here comes a little more!
After half an hour, the battle, I finally won.
I held a little trophy that I extracted from her ***
So if you come to my house at Christmas time next year,
A tree you'll see with ***** and lights and no tinsel anywhere.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
1498
Glass was the Street—in tinsel Peril
Tree and Traveller stood—
Filled was the Air with merry venture
Hearty with Boys the Road—
Shot the lithe Sleds like shod vibrations
Emphasized and gone
It is the Past’s supreme italic
Makes this Present mean—
3.1k
Christmas died with Santa Clause
when I reached a certain age.
The magic revealed as scam,
the wonder now an act
maintained for the sake of form.
This descended, in my teens,
into outright distaste -
all the trappings
a failed attempt
to light a lost wonderland;
a decorated tree
incongruous and distasteful
as a chimp in a suit.
Anger waned,
disinterest set in,
and I merely wished to avoid it all.
But through your eyes
a miracle occurs:
Papa Noel, mistaking his season,
makes an Easter of Christmas
by rising triumphant.
A tinsel star becomes a true Polaris
and love,
for anybody's sake,
is everything.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:28 AM UTC
10/12/2008, FOOD
Tom Yum Soup
how you held my hand
growled in hunger
how I didn't know
if we were a couple
15/12/2008 FOOD
how happy I was
to convince you to diverge
from healthy eating
to Vanilla cream and wafers
21/12/08 MISC
a tinsel hoop
and drawing pins
for a sock to hold
a chocolate reindeer
to your door
02/01/09
new year
we were a couple no more
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 4:27 PM UTC
She often thought that, in a morbid way, loving someone was like death.
The parts of yourself that you reveal and give, wrapped in silver tinsel and flowered paper, can be broken, stolen, or returned worse for wear.
Sometimes love waters the beautiful parts of people, allowing them to grow and twine their way into everyone’s smile. However, the same effect can be gained by the famine that rejection brings, drying the beautiful parts until they are no more than the
husk of the darkest humanities seeping into snarls.
What makes love dangerous, is the allure of how easily you could get hurt, rejected, tossed carelessly aside, or broken, but you’re taking a chance on another human being having the compassion not to abandon you in the gutter along with every other heart they have wrung dry.
The trees we carve with hearts and initials are almost like our tombstones, waiting for the date to be scribed underneath, of when he stopped loving her eyes or she stopping drying his tears.
Our memories are deposited regretfully at the sites we have marked with our love, the diner where he first saw her drinking coffee, the library where they shared their first kiss, the grassy patch where they lounged and discussed their children and wedding. The memories and emotions we leave in these places are the fragrant lilies and roses stained with our tears that we drop at the grave site; allowing ourselves to be overcome with the sting of losing someone forever.
After you lose the emotional connection with someone that can rarely be re-forged, you go through the grieving process that’s special and selective for every individual. The length and intensity of the grieving stages varying on amount of betrayal, nostalgia, affection, broken trust, and anger that came with the initial passing. Sometimes it’s the denial stage that clings, your mind intent that they will walk back into your life next Tuesday like a maelstrom hasn’t wreaked your lives.
So, in a morbid way, she often thought that loving someone was like attending a funeral to look at a mirror box, with your heart nestled inside someone else’s hands.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
globe lanterns
christmas lights
Shakespeare Andy Wharhol
billiards to the brim
tinsel
sandwich boards
microwaves
dust-covered couches
empty trash cans
lonely children
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
How it is fickle, leaving one alone to wander
the halls of the skull with the fluorescents
softly flickering. It rests on the head
like a bird nest, woven of twigs and tinsel
and awkward as soon as one stops to look.
That pile of fallen leaves drifting from
the brain to the fingertip burned on the stove,
to the grooves in that man's voice
as he coos to his dog, blowing into the leaves
of books with moonlit opossums
and Chevrolets easing down the roads
of one's bones. And now it plucks a single
tulip from the pixelated blizzard: yet
*itself is a swarm, a pulse with no
indigenous form, the brain's lunar halo.*
Our compacted galaxy, its constellations
trembling like flies caught in a spider web,
until we die, and then the flies
buzz away—while another accidental
coherence counts to three to pass the time
or notes the berries on the bittersweet vine
strewn in the spruces, red pebbles dropped
in the brain's gray pool. How it folds itself
like a map to fit in a pocket, how it unfolds
a fraying map from the pocket of the day.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
It’s time to take down all the decorations,
They look tatty with no celebrations
to give them purpose,
Bauble’s shine turns to rust,
The tinsel starts wilting
Like flowers left in a vase.
Fragments of sellotape cling to the wrapping paper,
And grab at the walls and window ledges it passes on its way to the fire
Trying to escape death.
At least a kind of death.
Floating up out of the flume to be part of a white Christmas for next year.
A flake of ash that ice molecules wrap themselves around to become a snowflake,
And to think you used to be wrapping paper.
So much tasted of last year,
How much is recyclable?
How much to care about complacence of wastage?
How much should I shed a tear?
How much should I care for carbon footprints and ******* tips?
I don’t want to care at all
It’s too much baggage.
All I want is to fly this year,
I’ll make a kite from the bones of the Christmas tree,
The baubles and tinsel and snow spray stripped,
Now bare of all personality.
Maybe it will fly…
If it doesn’t,
There will always be next year,
Until there isn’t…
…And even when I die someday,
Maybe I will get to be a snowflake.
And I’ll get to fly that way.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hings his head, an’ a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Our toils obscure, an’ a’ that;
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp;
The man’s the gowd for a’ that,
What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin-gray, an’ a’ that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their tinsel show an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that;
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His riband, star, an’ a’ that,
The man o’ independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a’ that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that;
But an honest man’s aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities, an’ a’ that,
The pith o’ sense, an’ pride o’ worth,
Are higher rank than a’ that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That sense and worth, o’er a’ the earth,
May bear the gree, an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s coming yet, for a’ that,
That man to man, the warld o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that.
2.6k