To A Mouse
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 murdering pattle!
Aye, as a good friend reminded me this morning, it’s Robbie Burn’s Day; if you’ve never heard of him he’s widly regarded as the national poet of Scotland and the man who wrote Auld Land Syne.
I digress.
The run this evening was brief, that and I was in a good mood (and for no particular reason).
With it staying lighter in the evenings I was able to enjoy a jaunt with nothing but the setting sun to keep me company (that and George Thoroughgood telling me about the house-man blues).
Hope everyone has a great weekend and to those racing (Chris and Mike), all the best. And, to those brave enough, happy haggis!
Training: easy undulating 41:44
3 comments:
Aye!
And it is the poem from which Steinbeck's Of Mice And Men gets it title.
Yeah. I am a lonely english teacher.
I once dated a Scottish lass and went with her to a Robert Burns Society celebration on this day. I tried Haggis (not, fortunately, in it's traditional casing). We didn't see each other much after that.
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