REPLY TILL E TOAST
 by Jenny Stewart

Till Robbie, fit a hownk o man wi curls an towng o honey,
He fair could charm e ithur sex although he hedna money,
His hert wiz eye on offer till pair o dimpled cheeks,
As far as sense wi weemin went, his brains lay in his breeks.

Though me an him are poets both comparison stops ere,
He left a string o broken herts all pullin oot thur hair,
E only reflex ah produce fan throwin some chiel ower,
Is gret beeg sighs o pure relief, an unrequited flower.

He coorted Marys, Jeanies, Nans an even bonnie Nells,
Immortalised thum all in verse wi words lek tinklin bells.
Wi all e girls he wrote aboot (id seems at thur wiz many),
He nivvur ivvur penned an ode till "Bonnie, sweet-lipped Chenny."

For me till follow his example writin odes till chiels,
Ah'd hev an awful chob till rhyme wi Jeemigs, Cheordies, Beels,
An fa'd go soft fan readin oot - "Erchie, love divine,"
Ye'd laugh till sore - romantic verse wiz nivvur skill o mine.

In wan respect ah sympathise wi Robbie's plight on earth,
Lek me he wisna blessed wi silver spoon upon his birth,
His musins didna make him rich, exisited most on breyd,
An world-wide fame eluded him until he'd long been deyd.

E modern lads could learn a thing fey Rob's romantic pen,
In how till coort a wumman, turn thumsells intil real men,
Cause chiels e day are no e same, they hev no inclination,
Till tell thur girls they worship them, wi eyes all adoration.

Instead they pick ye up a while an try till treyt ye rough,
E nearest till a compliment? - "ach, no a bad bit o stuff,"
While Robbie wid caress yur earlobes, nothane ere uncouth,
Entwine his fingers in yur hair, wi kissies drench yur mooth.

E answer here's a daily dose, a vaccine meyde o Rob,
Transform e days lethargic lot intil romantic mob,
Oh for e days o Robbie Burns! ma hert wid fill till brim,
If Robbie wid come back till life so ah could sleep wi him!