Whisky, Burns, and Bounty

Aug 13, 2011 by Kristen    No Comments    Posted under: On Art, On Humanity, On Words, Poetry

To course, the call, to top it off
In golden tumbled hands
A crystal glass, a bonnie lass
A loch to stretch these lands
A stumble on, a happy throng
Alit in Piper’s tune
The feast commence, with wily wench
And tantalizing boon
To course, the call, to top it off
Gold nectar for these lands
A love repast, a final last
A roust to bard’s command
A toast upon, we carry on
Adrift in worded swoon
‘Till when we rise, at last realize
The soul, the Maker’s Doon

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