"To a mountain daisy"....On turning one down with the plough...April 1786.

Wee modest crimson tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure,
          Thy slender stem;
To spare thee noo is past ma pow'r
          Thou bonnie gem.

Alas! its no thy neebour sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet
Bending thee'mang the dewy weet
             W'i' speckled breast,
When upward springing, blythe to greet
             The purpling east.

Cauld blewthe bitter biting North
Upon thy early humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
                Amid the storm,
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth
                Thy tender form.

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield
High sheltring woods and wa's maun shield,
But thou,beneath the randombield
                O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble field,
                Unseen, alane.

There in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snowy bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
                In humble guise,
But now the share uptears thy bed,
               And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flowr't o' the rural shade,
By loves simplicity betrayed,
               And guileless trust,
Till she like thee, all soiled is laid
               Low in the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard
On lifes rough ocean luckless starr'd
Unskilful he to note the card
             Of prudent lore
Till billows rage, and galesblow hard
               And whelm him o'er.

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n
                To mis'ry's brink,
Till wrench'd of every stay but heav'n
                He, ruin'd, sink!

Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate,
That fate is thine -- no distant date,
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate
                Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight
                Shall be thy doom!


Robert Burns ......Best wishes to Joe and Hawk.....Ake