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Weaver of Words ©

Fife, Scotland

A Prince of prose… a weaver of words
He wove drama… politics and love
Into fine silk for the ladies
Worsted for the cottar man
And enduring tweed for the nation

Worn in Edinburgh’s drawing rooms
Silken gowns and silken words
Mulberry for ladies with soft hands
Behind the plough wool…
Warmth in the snell springtime winds

Cheviot wool on looms woven by
Weavers.. the passing of books
Self educated men the divide
That would heat their blood
Who would suffer no “birkie lord”

Early passing stopped the flow
The words in waiting lie there still
For those who follow
To weave their tribute
To the man we know as Rabbie

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