Robert Burns ~ January 25, 1759 ~ 256 Years

Image/wikipedia




O, my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run:

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' twere ten thousand mile.

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I sang a setting of this poem last night at the annual Burns Night 
dinner sponsored by the St. Andrew's Society of San Francisco 
held at the Family Club on Bush and Powell. I sang in memory
of my dear friend Lyle Richardson, who died at the age of 92
just a few days before Christmas. I first met Lyle when he was
my accompanist for this same song at the same event many years ago.