What gentle wind bore you here
Upon the tides of time with lyrical ear
Your quill danced upon the pages fine
Word's that bleed Scotland's wine.
Old Alloway's haunted fields you bore
Rich to the taste where Doon it roared
tales matted together sprung anew
Upon the fresh fermented fields wherein you grew.
Your Comic style, roaring laughter filled
overtook the heart and outward spilled
the lace of your tongue drenched fire upon the ear
In poetry that held all a Scot holds dear.
Oh maker, you graced a full pudding of rhyme
to dance upon that mantle of thought sublime
enriched by the majesty of your people, your race
You gloried us all to the tones of this place.
Ayr town blessed a thousand fold to the story
of all Scots antiquity and martial glory
You filled the veins of the common man
here upon the hills of Carrick, blessed this land.
-----In yeer tongue-Scot Doric--
Oh Rabbie whit mare words can anither Scot but craw
Fa a' that yeer words dae grace and draw
Dinnie think yeer e'er awa frae hert or mind
Fa Rabbie, within yeer words oorsel's we find.