Several years ago, this letter was sent to me by my friend, Steve. It has become part of our Burns Supper ritual to carefully pass it around every year.

Dear Bennett,

So sorry to have missed Robert's birthday this year. I did hoist a glass or two that day but it just wasn't the same. Any way...

I was browsing through an old bookstore when I came across an envelope. The dealer said it was reputed to be the last poem of Robt. Burns!!! However, he was selling it at a discount because no one had the guts to take it out of the envelope for fear it might destruct and one would lose a piece of the poem. So in order to ease the burden of guilt I felt because we were unable to share some Lagavulin on that day of days, I got a loan from the bank and bought it for you.

The man said if a fellow was careful enough he could get it out in one piece. I am dying of curiosity but feel obliged to give you the honors...

When winters chill howls through
the pass

Me wife's afar, no warming clasp

With liquid heat I'll find a lass

And shove me [fragment destroyed]

up her [fragment destroyed]

The following poem may serve as a "lassies' reply," as well as a rejoinder to Tam o' Shanter. It was contributed, via a circuitous Internet route, by a Burns Night celebrant from Burray, in the Orkney Islands.

Kate O'Shanter



And where do you suppose was Kate
When market days were wearin late
While Tam frequented wretched dives
and fooled aroond wi landlord's wives?

And rode poor Meg through mud and ditches
and had an eye for handsome witches

Played peepin Tam at Alloway
And yelled and gave himself away
And fled from there amid the din
And Maggie hardly saved his skin

Kate slaved away the lifelong day
They had so many bills to pay
The twins just had to have new shoes
And Tam he spent so much on booze

She bathed and clothed and fed the twins
She baked the bread, she knits and spins
She does the wash, she mends the clothes
And what all else God only knows!

She keeps the house all neat and trim
And makes the lunch for ploughboy Jim
A neighbour lad they hire by day
Who does Tam's work while Tam's away

She herds the sheep and cattle too
Feeds hens, milks cows and when she's through
makes cheese and butter and gathers eggs
And puts the homebrew in the kegs

For Tam to sell on market day
And drink the proceeds half away

At harvest time from early morn
Her sickle reaps the oats and corn
And many a bonny summer day
She and ploughboy Jim - make hay

When Tam got home that night at 4
And Maggie found the stable door
Tam stumbled senseless to the floor
To sleep it off 8 hours or more

He tossed and turned through hail and rain
And through the nightmare ride again
Aboot the middle of the day
The livestock had a lot to say

The chickens, donkeys, geese, hens and cows
Said we want food we want it NOW
Tam stirred then from his lowly bed
and saw Meg's stump above his head

An awfu thought ran through his brain
Oh God - that wisna hail and rain!

Tam struggled slowly tae his feet
He wisna clean he wisna neat
He scraped aff what he could but when
He made his way from but to ben

Tam stood dumbfounded - what the hell
For Kate was gone - the twins as well

But Kate had left a note for him
"I've sailed to Montreal wi Jim"
And we expect to settle soon
Out on a farm near Saskatoon!

Forgive me Tam and don't be sore
A couldna tak it any more
I had tae find a better way
Before I'd slaved my youth away

I had tae try and save myself
(You'll find the oatmeal on the shelf)
Don't fash yourself aboot the twins
I might as well confess - they're Jims!!

Here's a rare, rantin' Kate, in a poem by Matthew Fitt - the Bard of Biggar. Matthew was recently in Sydney, Australia, writing an all-Scots novel while putting in a stint as the "National Scots Language Development Officer for a huge project tae produce sixteen books for bairns cried 'Itchy Coo'."

This poem was contributed by web site visitor Joe Farrell, who had the wonderful idea of writing a reply from the haggis' point of view!

Reply From a Haggis
by J. G. Farrell

O' (name) man, ye addressed me weel,
Which so befits a hielan' chiel,
And tho' like you I'm far frae hame,
I sure achieved my share of fame.

I never thocht I'd see the day,
I'd grace a trencher doon this way,
In the brawest club in (name) toon,
Tho' mony a mile frae bonny Doon.

Once fit for only rustic table,
I now enjoy a five star label,
No longer classed as peasant grub
For now I grace the (name) table.

I'm sometimes scorned by snobbish folks,
And the butt of corny jokes,
Such folks and jokes are unco phony,
Now I'm acclaimed by Egon Ronay.

The Power who made mankind her care,
Set me above all other fare,
For Scotland's sake I'll keep this place,
An' aye be Chieftain of the pudden' race.

So to all you Braw Scots lads & lassies
That here tonight I see,
Uphold auld Scotias good fair name,
And from me - "Bon Appetite"

An old rhyme from the schoolyards of Glasgow:

Rabbie Burns was born in Ayr
And noo he stands in Geordie Square
And if you want to see him there
Take the bus and pay your fare.

This is one of several poems that my wife Gretchen has contributed over the years.

What Robbie Means To Me

My friends as you know I'm married to Saint Bennett.
He's heavenly that's true but listen to this tenet.

We all make light & appreciate his love of Bobbie Burns.
But I must bear the burden of Bobbie's phrasing turns.

What I'm about to tell you is embarrassing at best
But I must make the confession & get it off my chest.

You see what gets Bennett really excited & hot
Is the fantasy that I'm a bonnie Scot.

On those nights when we want to screw
I have to recite a Burnsian brew.

You laugh now but just imagine my bane
When to the children I'll have to explain

About the cries they'll hear me banter.
About why at midnight I was reciting Tam o'Shanter.

It's bad enough I have to tell them about sex.
Will I also have to explain their father's complex?

This is the burden I must bear & bear it well I try.
It's a heavy load I carry for this saintly guy.

I don't want sympathy nor any pity need
I only hope this warning you will heed:

If tonight while you're having a good fuck
And a line by Burns in your mind gets stuck

Do your very best to forget that Scottish verse
Remember that Burns has become my curse.

A lovely sentiment, don't you think?

Another of my wife's poetic gems...

My Husband's Pipes

Last year I told you about Bennett's sexual yearning,
How lines from Burns get his testosterone churning.

Well this year I have another confession to make.
I trust you'll all be silent as my reputation is at stake.

You see the tides have turned in our bed at night
And now it is my loins which Burns words do light.

And worse, it's not only Burns' verse that sets my libido on fire.
it's all things Scottish - Haggis, bagpipes, even the name McIntyre.

When I'm feeling relaxed and randy
I place Bennett's kilt by the bed handy.

I make sure it is washed and neatly pressed.
With special care I fondle the Fischer crest.

When the children are bathed, all snug and asleep,
The final preparation I make with a leap.

I position the bagpipes within Bennett's easy grasp,
As I take them from the closet I give a little gasp

Now it is time for the fun to begin.
I know it is wrong, I know it's a sin.

As Bennett dons his kilt I watch in fascination.
Only this sonsie lad can cause me such excitation.

Maybe it is the placement of his knitted tam
That makes me the ewe to his ram.

As he starts to recite Nine Inch Will Please a Lady
He knows it's time for the bagpipes or I'll go crazy.

I'll spare you the details of our climatic expedition,
Suffice it to say it may be the reason for our eviction.

With amazing grace, dexterity and skill
He doesn't stop til this lass has had her fill.

There, I've said it. My secret is finally out.
I feel relieved though still the lout.

But the moral of this tale I don't want you to misconstrue,
My advice from last year still holds true.

If into your bed a kilted mate does creep
Just pretend you are fast asleep.

You see, although pleasurable the pipes are too large
Unless, of course, you sleep on a barge.

Two in our bed was the way it used to be.
Now I'm only satisfied when there is three.