My Ain Bonnie Lass O' The Glen.
Ae blink o' the bonnie new mune,
Ay tinted as sune as she's seen,
Wad licht me to Meg frae the toun,
Tho' mony the brae-side between:
Ae fuff o' the saftest o' win's,
As wilyart it kisses the thorn,
Wad blaw me o'er knaggies an' linns--
To Meg by the side o' the burn!
My daddie's a laird wi' a ha';
My mither had kin at the court;
I maunna gang wooin' ava'--
Or any sic frolicsome sport.
Gin I'd wed--there's a winnock kept bye;
Wi' bodies an' gear i' her loof--
Gin ony tak her an' her kye,
Hell glunsh at himsel' for a coof!
My daddie's na doylt, tho' he's auld,
The winnock is pawkie an' gleg;
When the lammies are pit i' the fauld,
They're fear'd that I'm aff to my Meg.
My mither sits spinnin'--ae blink
O' a smile in her kind, bonnie 'ee;
She's minded o' mony a link
She, stowlins, took o'er the lea
To meet wi' my daddie himsel'
Tentie jinkin' by lea an' by shaw;
She fu's up his pipe then hersel',
So I may steal cannie awa'.
O leeze me o' gowany swaird,
An' the blink o' the bonnie new mune!
An' the cowt stown out o' the yaird
That trots like a burnie in June!
My Meg she is waitin' abeigh--
Ilk spunkie that flits through the fen
Wad jealously lead me astray
Frae my ain bonnie lass o' the glen!
My forbears may groan i' the mools,
My daddie look dour an' din;
Wee Love is the callant wha rules,
An' my Meg is the wifie I'll win!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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The Elphin Nourrice
I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
An' a cow low down in yon glen;
Lang, lang will my young son greet,
Or his mither bid him come ben.
I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
An' a cow low down in yon fauld;
Lang, lang will my young son greet,
Or is mither take him frae cauld.
Waken, Queen of Elfan,
An hear your Nourrice moan.
O moan ye for your meat,
Or moan ye for your fee,
Or moan ye for the ither bounties
That ladies are wont to gie?
I moan na for my meat,
Nor yet for my fee,
But I mourn for Christened land--
It's there I fain would be.
O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says,
Till he stan' at your knee,
An' ye's win hame to Christen land,
Whar fain it's ye wad be.
O keep my bairn, Nourice,
Till he gang by the hauld,
An' ye's win hame to your young son,
Ye left in four nights auld.
poem by Andrew Lang
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The Bonnie House O' Airly
It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,
When the corn grew green and yellow,
That there fell out a great dispute
Between Argyle and Airly.
The Duke o' Montrose has written to Argyle
To come in the morning early,
An' lead in his men, by the back O' Dunkeld,
To plunder the bonnie house o' Airly.
The lady look'd o'er her window sae hie,
And O but she looked weary!
And there she espied the great Argyle
Come to plunder the bonnie house o' Airly.
'Come down, come down, Lady Margaret,' he says,
'Come down and kiss me fairly,
Or before the morning clear daylight,
I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly.'
'I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
I wadna kiss thee fairly,
I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane Airly.'
He has ta'en her by the middle sae sma',
Says, 'Lady, where is your drury?'
'It's up and down by the bonnie burn side,
Amang the planting of Airly.'
They sought it up, they sought it down,
They sought it late and early,
And found it in the bonnie balm-tree,
That shines on the bowling-green o' Airly,
He has ta'en her by the left shoulder,
And O but she grat sairly,
And led her down to yon green bank,
Till he plundered the bonnie house o' Airly.
'O it's I hae seven braw sons,' she says,
'And the youngest ne'er saw his daddie,
And altho' I had as mony mae,
I wad gie them a' to Charlie.
'But gin my good lord had been at hame,
As this night he is wi' Charlie,
There durst na a Campbell in a' the west
Hae plundered the bonnie house o' Airly.
poem by Andrew Lang
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O, Falmouth Is a Fine Town
O Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay,
And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day;
I wish from my heart I was far away from here,
Sitting in my parlor and talking to my dear.
For it's home, dearie home-it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree,
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet
With her babe on her arm as she came down the street;
And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready
For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie.
And it's home, dearie, home,-
O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring;
And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king;
With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue
He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do.
And it's home, dearie, home-
O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west,
And that of all the winds is the one I like the best,
For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free,
And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie.
For it's home, dearie, home-it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree,
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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The Birks Of Aberfeldy
Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldie!
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldie?
The little birdies blithely sing,
While o'er their heads the hazels hing;
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldie!
Bonnie lassie, will ye go…
The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream, deep-roaring, fa's,
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldie.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go…
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldie.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go…
Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee
In the birks of Aberfeldie.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go…
poem by Robert Burns
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Birks Of Aberfeldie, The
Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldie!
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldie?
The little birdies blithely sing,
While o'er their heads the hazels hing;
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldie!
Bonnie lassie, will ye go...
The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream, deep-roaring, fa's,
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldie.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go...
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldie.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go...
Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee
In the birks of Aberfeldie.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go...
poem by Robert Burns
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Little Jamie
Ither laddies may ha's finer claes, and may be better fed,
But nane o' them a'has sic a bonnie curly heid,
O sie a blythe blink in their e'e,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When I gang oot tae tak' a walk wi' him, alang the Magdalen Green,
It mak's my heart feel lichtsome tae see him sae sharp and keen,
And he pu's the wee gowans, and gie's them to me,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When he rises in the mornin' an' gets oot o' bed,
He says, mither, mind ye'll need tae toast my faither's bread.
For he aye gie's me a bawbee;
He's the best little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When I gang oot tae tak' a walk alang the streets o' Dundee,
And views a' the little laddies that I chance to see,
Nane o' them a' seems sae lovely to me,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
The laddie is handsome and fair to be seen,
He has a bonnie cheerie mou', and taw blue e'en,
And he prattles like an auld grandfaither richt merrily;
He's the funniest little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd Iaddie, Little Jamie.
Whene'er that he kens I am coming hame frae my wark,
He runs oot tae meet me as cheerful as the lark,
And he says, faither, I'm wanting just a'e bawbee,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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A Valentine
YE are twa laddies unco gleg,
An' blithe an' bonnie:
As licht o' heel as Anster's Meg;--
Gin ye'd a lassie's favor beg,
I' faith she couldna stir a peg
Ance lookin' on ye!
He's a douce wiselike callant--Jim:
Of wit aye ready.
Cuts aff ane's sentence, 't ither's limb,
An' whiles he's daft and whiles he's grim,
But brains?--wha's got the like o'him
In's wee bit heidie?
Dear laddie wi' the curlin' hair,
Gentlest of ony:
That gies kind looks an' speeches fair
To dour auld wives as lassies rare,--
I ken a score o' lads an' mair,
But nane like Johnnie!
And gin ye learn the way to woo,
Hae sweethearts mony,
O laddie, never say ye loe
An' gie fause coin for siller true;
A lassie's sair heart's naething new,--
Mind o' that, Johnnie.
An' dinna change your luve sae fast
For ilk face bonnie,
Lest waefu' want track wilfu' waste,
And a' your youthfu' years lang past,
Ye get the crookit stick at last,
Ochone, puir Johnnie!
But callants baith, tak tent, and when
Bright e'en hae won ye,
Tak each your jo--and keep her--then
Be faithfu' as ye're fond, ye ken,
Or--gang your gate like honest men,
Young Jim and Johnnie.
Sae when auld Time his crookit claw
Sall lay upon ye,
When, Jim, your feet that dance sae braw
Are no the lightest in the ha',
An' a' your curly haffets fa',
My winsome Johnnie,--
May each his ain warm ingle view,
Cosie as ony:
A gudewife sonsie, leal and true,
O' bonnie dochters not a few,
An' lads--sic lads as ye're the noo--
Dear Jim and Johnnie!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass
Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie lass
She is walking through the grass
With the wind blowing in her hair,
She is looking for the man
She calls her own and take his hand
But sadly, he is never ever there,
As she is heading back home
And again she is all alone
As again GOD had ignored her thoughts,
But sadly no one does care
What she is doing over there
As she’ll never find, what she had sought.
Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie lass
Whom I had just past
As I shied away from happily,
I have known of her before
As she had knocked upon my door
But now the door is shut and I am free,
As it was not that long ago
When she filled my heart with woe
Then threw my heart and life away,
As she smiled as though she cared
But never worried how I had faired
And goodbye to me she never did say.
Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass
Love for you it never did last
And your hopes and dreams are now all gone,
Someday though you will get old
And you will be standing all alone
As you will be walking upon your lawn,
You will be seeking someone new
So you can say again, I love you
As your walking down life’s final path,
But no one will ever be there
As the winds blows though your hair
My Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass.
poem by Randy McClave
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Bonnie Cat
Bonnie cat o!
Bonnie cat... don't go away
Bonnie cat look! you make funny bunny crying,
Bonnie cat see it is cold and will not you
come and have me sleep in your warmth
Bonnie cat will not we play the strings of a piano together
one which made the days of summer like a swallow bird
humming into the chilly wintry nights in the command of a nightingale
Bonnie cat o!
Bonnie cat o!
Bonnie cat look i have carrot soup for you
Shall not we chase and try to fly like those duffy ducks
they now bully me bonnie cat
Bunny is so scored without you
Shall not we play in the sunshine meadows
and steal milk from the chocolate hut
Shall not you tell me again to run and get you the rainbow past you
Shall not we see the fountains emerge again and quench our thirst
Bonnie cat o!
Bonnie cat o!
Bonnie cat see our life lacks subtlety
without our sinewy power of bonding
Bonnie cat o bonnie cat!
Don't leave me for a panjandrum center
in your heart...cavort back dear!
See the bunny too have fish and chips for you
Flesh for your heart and not syringes made of bones
And heart for your flesh never ever in the mesh of bandages
Bonnie cat will not you come as Latin song
in satin clothes for my prayer's christmas gift
Bonnie cat o!
Bonnie cat o!
Bonnie cat look you made funny bunny no more irascible
In your zany droplets of fear which in i grew up
Bonnie cat without you i am lost in the turbine
where noxious gases take my breath away
It now stings like an urchin and groans like a swine
Is not it you testing my patience bonnie cat
Tell me bonnie cat don't walk away
Word does make an image of fascination
but pain does not when i convey am really in
Bonnie cat...
my sweet bonnie cat
Bonnie cat o!
The Outlaw
Oh, I wadna be a yeoman, mither, to follow my father's trade,
To bow my back in miry banks, at pleugh and hoe and spade.
Stinting wife, and bairns, and kye, to fat some courtier lord,-
Let them die o' rent wha like, mither, and I'll die by sword.
Nor I wadna be a clerk, mither, to bide aye ben,
Scrabbling ower the sheets o' parchment with a weary weary pen;
Looking through the lang stane windows at a narrow strip o' sky,
Like a laverock in a withy cage, until I pine away and die.
Nor I wadna be a merchant, mither, in his lang furred gown,
Trailing strings o' footsore horses through the noisy dusty town;
Louting low to knights and ladies, fumbling o'er his wares,
Telling lies, and scraping siller, heaping cares on cares.
Nor I wadna be a soldier, mither, to dice wi' ruffian bands,
Pining weary months in castles, looking over wasted lands.
Smoking byres, and shrieking women, and the grewsome sights o' war-
There's blood on my hand eneugh, mither; it's ill to make it mair.
If I had married a wife, mither, I might ha' been douce and still,
And sat at hame by the ingle side to crack and laugh my fill;
Sat at hame wi' the woman I looed, and wi' bairnies at my knee:
But death is bauld, and age is cauld, and luve's no for me.
For when first I stirred in your side, mither, ye ken full well
How you lay all night up among the deer out on the open fell;
And so it was that I won the heart to wander far and near,
Caring neither for land nor lassie, but the bonnie dun deer.
Yet I am not a losel and idle, mither, nor a thief that steals;
I do but hunt God's cattle, upon God's ain hills;
For no man buys and sells the deer, and the bonnie fells are free
To a belted knight with hawk on hand, and a gangrel loon like me.
So I'm aff and away to the muirs, mither, to hunt the deer,
Ranging far frae frowning faces, and the douce folk here;
Crawling up through burn and bracken, louping down the screes,
Looking out frae craig and headland, drinking up the simmer breeze.
Oh, the wafts o' heather honey, and the music o' the brae,
As I watch the great harts feeding, nearer, nearer a' the day.
Oh, to hark the eagle screaming, sweeping, ringing round the sky-
That's a bonnier life than stumbling ower the muck to colt and kye.
And when I'm taen and hangit, mither, a brittling o' my deer,
Ye'll no leave your bairn to the corbie craws, to dangle in the air;
But ye'll send up my twa douce brethren, and ye'll steal me frae the tree,
And bury me up on the brown brown muirs, where I aye looed to be.
Ye'll bury me 'twixt the brae and the burn, in a glen far away,
Where I may hear the heathcock craw, and the great harts bray;
And gin my ghaist can walk, mither, I'll go glowering at the sky,
The livelong night on the black hill sides where the dun deer lie.
In the New Forest, 1847.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Handsome Nell
O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass,
Aye, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast
I'll love my handsome Nell.
As bonnie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw,
But for a modest gracefu' mien
The like I never saw.
A bonnie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the ee,
But without some letter qualities
She's no a lass for me.
But Nellie's looks are blithe and sweet,
And what is best of a'
Her reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.
She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;
And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.
A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart,
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.
'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.
poem by Robert Burns
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Hark! the Mavis
CA' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie dearie.
Hark! the mavis' evening sang
Sounding Clouden's woods amang,
Then a-faulding let us gang,
My bonnie dearie.
We'll gae down by Clouden side,
Through the hazels spreading wide,
O'er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonder Clouden's silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours
O'er the dewy bending flowers
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonnie dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die--but canna part,
My bonnie dearie.
While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e,
Ye shall be my dearie.
Ca' the yowes to the knowes...
poem by Robert Burns
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Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
went out for a ride
with the Devil for a guide.
In a hot V-8 Ford
they took off with a roar
machine guns by their sides.
Bonnie was neat
and very petite
and Clyde was a handsome guy.
They robbed banks and stores,
and gas stations galore,
thumbing their noses at
a world they decried.
But the law was enraged
and made plans to engage
the infamous duo someday.
And on May twenty-third
they found a way
to put an end to Bonnie and Clyde.
It was as lovers they died
sitting side by side
in a bullet-riddled Ford.
And so then it came true as Bonnie well knew
that both of them surely would die,
for that's what she wrote,
expressing no hope, in the
Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde.
poem by Kendall Thomas
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Auld Rob Morris
There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the King o' gude fellows, and wale o' auld men;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonie lass, his dautie and mine.
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
But oh! she's an Heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.
O had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!
O how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction nae words can express.
poem by Robert Burns (1792)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Old English Lullaby
Hush, bonnie, dinna greit;
Moder will rocke her sweete,-
Balow, my boy!
When that his toile ben done,
Daddie will come anone,-
Hush thee, my lyttel one;
Balow, my boy!
Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce
Fayries will come to daunce,-
Balow, my boy!
Oft hath thy moder seene
Moonlight and mirkland queene
Daunce on thy slumbering een,-
Balow, my boy!
Then droned a bomblebee
Saftly this songe to thee:
'Balow, my boy!'
And a wee heather bell,
Pluckt from a fayry dell,
Chimed thee this rune hersell:
'Balow, my boy!'
Soe, bonnie, dinna greit;
Moder doth rock her sweete,-
Balow, my boy!
Give mee thy lyttel hand,
Moder will hold it and
Lead thee to balow land,-
Balow, my boy!
poem by Eugene Field
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Ye Banks And Braes O'Bonnie Doon
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days
When my fause Luve was true.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.
Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love;
And sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw the rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.
poem by Robert Burns
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Blythe was She
Blythe, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she but and ben;
Blythe by the banks of Ern,
And blythe in Glenturit glen.
By Ochtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes o’ Yarrow ever saw.
Blythe, &c.
Her looks were like a flow’r in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn:
She tripped by the banks of Ern,
As light’s a bird upon a thorn.
Blythe, &c.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lee;
The evening sun was ne’er sae sweet,
As was the blink o’ Phemie’s e’e.
Blythe, &c.
The Highland hills I’ve wander’d wide,
And o’er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blythest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blythe, &c.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bonnie
Your silver nights and golden days
I try to reach you in a million ways
Im crazy bout you bonnie
Can you tell?
Your diamond rings and fancy clothes
Do I want you babe, well heaven knows
Im wild about you bonnie
Cant you see hey bonnie
Ive love you oh so long
I know wed get along
Hey bonnie will you ever notice me
Yes I know you oh so well
Just one look and I fell
Please tell me that our love will always be
Ive seen your films and all your plays
I read about you every single day
Id lke to get my lovin arms round you
song performed by by Supertramp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bonnie Lass o' Dundee
O' a' the toons that I've been in,
I dearly love Dundee,
It's there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lass I love to see. Her face is fair, broon is her hair,
And dark blue is her e'e,
And aboon a' the lasses e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.
I see her in my night dreams,
Wi' her bonnie blue e'e,
And her face it is the fairest,
That ever I did see;
And aboon a' the lassies e'er I eaw,
There's nane like her to me,
For she makes my heart feel lichtsome,
And I'm aye richt glad to see
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.
Her eyes, they beam with innocence,
Most lovely for to see,
And her heart it is as free from guile,
As a child on its mother's knee;
And aboon a' the lasses e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me,
For she aye seems so happy, And has a blythe bhnk in her e'e
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.
The lassie is tidy in her claes,
Baith neat and clean to see;
And her body's sma and slender,
And a neat foot has she;
And aboon a' the lassies e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.
She sings like the nightingale,
Richt merrily, or a wee lintie,
Wi' its heart fou' o' glee,
And she's as frisky as a bee;
And aboon a' the lassies e'er I saw,
There's nane like her to me
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie o' Bonnie Dundee.
The lassie is as handsome
As the lily on the lea,
And her mou' it is as red
As a cherry on the tree;
And she's a' the world to me,
The bonnie broon-hair'd lassie
Wi' the bonnie blue e'e,
She's the joy o' my heart
And the flower o' Dundee.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Bonnie Lass
My Bonnie Lass From Scotland
Whom I love with all my heart
Across the sea, she came to me
From her, I shall never part.
As she is my everything
As I wander throughout my life
And like a prayer, she is always there
So now my Lass, has became my wife.
As she is the beauty
That enters into my thoughts
So now when I close my eyes, I realize
She was my victory in a battle hard fought.
My Bonnie Lass from Scotland
Whom I love with all my soul
And in my brain, she will always remain
As never will I let her go.
When I close my eyes and off to sleep
My mind though is still wide awake,
Sometimes I wonder, as though I ponder
How do I live, if from me, she GOD did take.
For I love her more than the red, red rose
That blooms in the summertime
And I will love her till, my heart stands still
Till then, I know that she is mine.
My Bonnie Lass from Scotland
You are the reason that I do live
As in this world of take, and remake
To you and only you, I will always give.
And though in times that we might fight
But in my heart I am holding your hand
I can take the pain, like the falling rain
As always I know, I am your man.
In years from now when its my time to leave
And our present will become your past
With tears in my eye, I will always cry
That I love you my Bonnie, Bonnie Lass.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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