Burns Night


His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reeking, rich!

I love a bit of Burns. Early burns. When he rambled on about stuff like dogs and weather more. I’ll confess I don’t understand all he blethering, but I like the bits I do, and the bits I don’t all the same.

Got friends round for a Burns supper. Nice. Might watch Highlander next. There can be.. only one.

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