a lil' Bobby Burns fir ye

from Epistle to Davie, A Brother Poet. I strongly recommend you read the whole thing.

January

What tho’, like commoners of air,
We wander out, we know not where,
But either house or hal’,        45
Yet nature’s charms, the hills and woods,
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods,
Are free alike to all.
In days when daisies deck the ground,
And blackbirds whistle clear,        50
With honest joy our hearts will bound,
To see the coming year:
On braes when we please, then,
We’ll sit an’ sowth a tune;
Syne rhyme till’t we’ll time till’t,        55
An’ sing’t when we hae done.