Bonnie Scotia - Hymn To Burns - Poem by Elis Mita
Trembles my hands.
Ha'd - beats this hea't.
Thee glo'ious Highlands;
How thou gene'ous;
As well unique;
Thee honour, righteous;
Magic 'n mystique.
Significative then sta'ts the rain.
Which dries o'er the mine scar;
While fills my ill brain.
Wi' a melancholic bagpipe.
Vibrates this tormented soul.
The mind becomes to turns.
Skies opens their gates.
In front o' me Robbie Burns.
My master, my light,
lightouse 'n my compass.
Waitin' fo' ya,
time I was.
Fo' ya today I wrote this hymn;
Dedicated as thou with all the rhyme.
O beloved precious, shining example.
Master glorious, brother 'n father.
Ode fo' ya, fo' the honest poverty.
As we'll live, we'll fight,
Might we ae few, but wi' great faith.
To overcome the injustice,
to withstand the fate.
It isn't easy, but we know the taste.
That had teached to us,
mother Scotia the brave.
Luv 'll triumph in the
end o' the end.
Good times 'll return
to ou' souls again.
Wi' 'Hallas 'n ou'; lion o' glo'y.
As in thou shinin' past
'll be repeated the sto'y.
The future whole is in
front o' us.
F'om Edina, Falke'k, Kilma'nock 'til in Ayr.
The eagle o' ou' souls
is flyin' in the(e) air...
O Bonnie Scotia, O ou' g'eat luv.
Ya, God's gift, f'om us f'om above.
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