Fragment Her Flowing Locks Robert Burns Poetry
Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!
Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,
O’ what a feast her bonie mou’!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner!
As a fifteen year-old boy I discovered these lines at my local library. Always a love-lorn teenager I became aware of Burns the romantic, never forgot the first line and was inspired to begin writing “Poetry” to pursue my own romantic efforts and ambitions. I have continued to appreciate poetry and use it to express all my life. I am now 62. Thank you Rabbie.