Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear
Poem by Robert Burns
Ah, woe is me, my mother dear!
A man of strife ye've born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.
I ne'er could lend on bill or band,
That five per cent. might blest me;
And borrowing, on the tither hand,
The deil a ane wad trust me.
Yet I, a coin-denied wight,
By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night,
By lad and lass blackguarded!
Comments about Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear by Robert Burns
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.