Ah, how my female heart yearns
For those yesteryear times of Rabbi Burns
When men were men, and women fair of face
Objects of desire, if firmly in their place

How would we modern women feel do you suppose
If our men were to liken us to a red, red, rose?
Would our hardened hearts not beat and flutter so
If they called us their Highland Lassie, O?

Could Cupid’s arrow possibly score a miss?
If on our lips our man planted Ae Fond Kiss?
With pleasure would we not nearly die
If his body met ours coming thro’ the rye?

We’d surely be delighted, truth to tell
If affectionately, he called us, handsome Nell
Toward him, how could we vent our spleen
If he held us tight and called us bonnie Jean?

Oh the romantic poet, handsome and so wise
Was no saint and he liked to womanise
But he did it with panache and with charm
And his flattering words kept him out of harm

Sure Rabbi Burns lived way back when
And this, now is of course 2010
So much has changed since Rabbi ploughed the land
If he saw us now would he possibly understand?

In his day he was quite a heavy hitter
But what would he make of Facebook or of Twitter?
Of YouTube, Bebo or the mobile phone
Of never being out of touch, or alone?

Yet many things have really changed so little
Are 21^st century hearts all that more brittle?
We women now expect equality
But we’d surely still go weak at the knee

If our men were just a little less pedantic
Less ‘modern’ and a little more romantic
I know that we have heard them all wax lyrical
Express their love without being satirical

For their sweet beloved lassie right enough
Yes, sometimes our men are made of softer stuff
There’s one of them who’s proven he can care
For the lovely looks of his Becky fair

And another who’s besotted as can be
With his cheeky little minx called Amelie
For one of them there’s never a bad word
About his swift and nifty, funny, sunny bird

And yet another romantic little man
Knows no woman cuts the mustard quite like Toucan
One clearly likes his women rich and hot he
Calls his special lassie his Posh Totty

And another who enjoys some slap and tickle
With a wee fair lass he calls his Lady Pickle
For one lass it might well be a drag
That affectionately she’s called his Scallywag

For another, it is quite plain to see
In his lassie’s arms it’s like a Rhapsody
One of them has such a sense of fun
He likens his lassie to a smoking gun

Magnum, he calls out when he’s fast asleep
With such emotion he could make a woman weep
Some men with their lassies are so elated
That what they call them is truly X-rated

Some are so fickle that before our very eyes
The poor lass Becky got a nasty Surprise!
O, once I lov’d a bonnie lass, Burns wrote
But lads, dear Rabbi didn’t mean his boat!

Yes you’re all full of bonhomie and banter
But could one of you pen for us a Tam O’Shanter?
Most of you could spin us a line
But what could you create for Auld Lang’s Syne?

Ach you may not all be poets, just mere men
And for us lassies you come in useful now and then
You may not all be like dear Rabbi Burns
But a woman loves a man who quickly learns

Girls he may not have fine words right off pat
But you know, a man’s a man, for a’ that
So lassies, raise your glasses now with me
And let’s toast the fine lads of RTYC!

 

  

©Joanne Ross
January 2010