Rabbie's Revenge ©
Dalton in Furness, England
He stood against the lectern,
A cheeky glint in his eye.
To spread the meaning of “Burns Night”,
His skill I couldn’t deny.
Dressed in the best,
A wee dram close to hand,
The whole room were impressed,
By his tales of our land.
A colourful picture,
He painted that night,
Of the way that things were,
Back when Rabbie did write.
And as he spoke on,
I’d a swelling inside.
Was he really restoring my national pride?
Throughout the recitals, the meal and the toast.
This exiled son’s Scottish heart, was ready to boast.
And as luck would have it,
After the speech,
A chance to say thanks, was soon in my reach.
As the numbers were milling,
Heading for the door,
I made my introduction,
My appreciation and more.
There was something in the sway of his kilt,
How one eye closed slightly, as his head gave a tilt.
And his gleeful whisper arrived in my ear,
Carefully aimed, so that none else could hear
“A really stuck it tay them English gets,” he said.
Which even now when remembering,
Still makes me see red.
This constant obsession, won’t ruin my life.
I took one of the “Auld Enemy” as my wife.
My child is blessed with her parental blend,
For her, bigotry’s so easy to transcend.
So think on wee Piper, and as you grow older,
Let the wisdom you glean, knock the chip from your shoulder.
It may seem stuck, and impossible to budge,
Cos you’re weighing it down with a thousand year grudge.
Don’t forget the past wrongs dealt,
They can teach us a lot,
Barring folk like you, I’m still proud to have been born a Scot.