In Bonnie Scotland

A Memory of Campsie Glen.

In Bonnie Scotland

The road back to Campsie Glen
Is a forty-year long tunnel of mist!
Dug deep into the cut bedrock of memory,
And neatly knitted in the multi-storey labyrinth
Of pouring passions, in pounding poems!!

There, Bobby Burns resides - and presides
And walks tall in the midst of thickly woods;
With pine trees towering highest above the tides
That prick the backs and bellies of distant seas,
And smother the chimneys of distant dales,
And tickle the beacons of distant shores!

There, sat he; a wild alien gypsy barbarian
Tenderly entertained by a bonny lass
In chastity white-lace; revealing dress!
She stood fair among the thistles and the lilies:
"Like a red-red rose that's newly sprung in June!"
And he stared-still, staggering and unfit:
Like a fake-fiddle "un-sweetly played off-tune!"

Libidinous, feverish and ridiculous;
His devils ran their brutish wildest!
And the needle-leaves poured over his head
Like the flood-rain of caustic curses,
Or fires from showers of shooting stars;
That instantly burned the demon in flame
And eternally buried the wretch in shame!!

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