The Day Looks Gash, Toot Aff Your Horn

This is yet another blog recommend, for the second day in running.

It is a post by Michael Gilleland in laudator temporis acti.

Please read this poem by the Scots poet Robert Fergusson (1750-1774).

"Ne'er fash your thumb what gods decree

To be the weird o' you or me,

Nor deal in cantrip's kittle cunning

To speir how fast your days are running;

But patient lippen for the best,

Nor be in dowie thought opprest.

Whether we see mair winter's come,

Than this that spits wi' canker'd foam.

Now moisten weel your geyzen'd wa's

Wi' couthy friends and hearty blaws;

Ne'er let your hope o'ergang your days,

For eild and thraldom never stays;

The day looks gash, toot aff your horn,

Nor care ae strae about the morn."

I think you get a general drift of what this is about.

To enjoy this poem better, please visit the blog, because to say more won't be fair.

If anyone translates this poem into one of our dialects, say Chennai Tamil or Nellai Tamil, he will get the award of 1000 Porkizhis.