for Robbie Burns
the mouse, oh yes, that mouse
like the frog of Basho, and the pug
of Hogarth, the mouse, that wee creature
of my reading, sports with my memory
and the Anglo-Scottish sounds reverberate
like the vauxhall viva starting upon a cold
winter morning, the starter playing up
and the mouse, not the rat, we could not have
that! the mouse, with those cute jerry
whiskers, and bright eyes, creeping in
and out of William Blake and Wordsworth
and all the forgotten poetry, the tug of
the burr, it is, gaelic we commemorate
today Robbie your birthday, and it is for
you Robbie to give us one of your turns!
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