Autumn is a strange affair in Scotland, so I thought Id post this from Scotlands Bonny Robert Burns... Now wrestlin winds and slaughtring guns Bring Autumns pleasant weather; The moorcock springs on whirring wings Amang the blooming heather: Now waiving grain, wide oer the plain, Delights the weary farmer; And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, To muse upon my Charmer. Well gently walk, and sweetly talk, Till the silent moon shine clearly; Ill grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, Swear how I love thee dearly: Not vernal showrs to budding flowrs, Not Autumn to the farmer, So Dear can be as thou to me, My fair, my lovely Charmer!
Posted on: Sat, 26 Oct 2013 17:55:21 +0000
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