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 Aug 2019
Robert Burns
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.
 Aug 2019
Robert Burns
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 played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie 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;
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 awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile.
 Aug 2019
Gemmawrites
Sometimes i wonder do you
Remember me like i remember you.

— The End —