His unmarked grave a
But Burns himself would put that right.
It took one, who knows to know another,
A great Scots bard a poet brother.
His life was short unfair
Forestalled advance to Scottish treasure.
One slim volume did time permit,
Poetic guile wicked wit.
He chose native tongue
when not the fashion,
A Scottish brogue for Scottish passion.
A shining light a true Scots beacon,
In poets church "A High Archdeacon."
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