Auld Lang Syne.

[rubberdinghy]

I just wanted to share something that I have been thinking about all day today.

Auld Lang Syne is the song that everyone associates with New Year's Eve. Many people aren't familiar with it's origins, and I just wanted to tell you about it. It's always been attributed to the Scottish Poet Rabbie Burns and that it was written in the mid 18th century. Some people say it had been around many centuries prior to Burns' version and also say that he may have only wrote the last couple of versus. I could be wrong.

Anyways...it doesn't matter. My grandfather passed away yesterday, and enjoyed his writing thouroughly. My grandfather was a Scotsman, and loved his country dearly. Robbie Burns' and my grandfather seemed to have the same love for thier beloved country.

Jan 16th is my old man's birthday and Jan 25th is Robbie Burns' birthday. Jan 18th is the day my grandfather passed away.

Every year, on New Year's I will remember my grandfather, and his love for his country, because of that one song that didn't use to mean anything to me. Interesting the way things happen.

Back in public school I had to do something for a poem, I can't remember what, but I picked one of his. I forgot all about it till today and wanted to share.

To A Mouse,

Robert Burns.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,

O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,

Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,

Has broken nature's social union,

An' justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen icker in a thrave

'S a sma' request;

I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,

An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!

It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!

An' naething, now, to big a new ane,

O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's winds ensuin,

Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,

An' weary winter comin fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell-

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,

Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!

Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,

But house or hald,

To thole the winter's sleety dribble,

An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,

In proving foresight may be vain;

The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men

Gang aft agley,

An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me

The present only toucheth thee:

But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,

I guess an' fear!

Rest in Peace Grandad.

[payce-ley]

beautiful, thanks for sharing that... Scottish is such a frightening sounding language (even just reading it)

cool to hear of your grandfather's positive influence on you

cheers

[gentlemonkey]

Thanks for the great post, Dinghy.

Sorry to hear about your Grampa.

[Dr. J]

yeah thanks for the post rd and sorry to hear about the passing of your grandfather.

[ollie]

My condolences Scott. Thanks for sharing!

[bradm]

My condolences, rubberdinghy.

Aloha,

Brad

[rubberdinghy]

Thanks for the kind words guys...Funny story, we went to see my grandfather last night at the funeral home, his wishes were for no funeral or wake, that he wanted to be cremated and sent to Scotland. So last night we went to say goodbye, and my grandmother couldn't stop poking his forehead! I couldn't help myself, so I asked what she was doing. She was worried because he was cold when she saw him in the morning, but now he's warmer. I couldn't help but laugh. The picture of my grandma doing that will be forever in my head.

[Davey Boy 2.0]

sorry to hear that Scot

all th'best tay thee