Scotland was the home of many writers: Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson are three of the most well-known. Edinburgh has a Writer’s Museum dedicated to them, but I didn’t get an opportunity to go.  However, if I ever get back to Edinburgh, that’s one of my first stops.

I remember learning Robert Burn’s poem in eighth grade. However, you don’t have to read too much about Robert Burn’s life to know he didn’t live a life you’d want your eighth grader to imitate or any other grader, either.

But the poem is likeable  (especially if you’re an eighth grader), though not exactly deep.

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!
O 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’ it were ten thousand mile!

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