Selected for 26
Many will have toasted our national poet in drinks as soft as his own tender heart. Others, opting for something a wee bit
stronger, will nontheless have exercised a moderation more seemly than Burns sometimes managed. If, however, for a few imbibers,
today felt like the morning after the Burns night before, then this split-skulled, dry-mouthed groan from the fireside corner,
or ingle-neuk, by a (briefly) repenant toper, '...sick, o' drink!', may offer some not exactly sobering solace. The letter
enclosing the poem was actually dated January 24 but as poetic hair of the dog, it seemed irresistibly ripe for deferral...
With appropriate informality, the poet 'signs off' as Rabbie Burns.