On the twenty-fifth of January,
this magical night of the year,
celebrating all things Scottish
and the Caledonian ploughman poet.
We toast the great Robbie Burns,
raising a glass of fine single malt,
reciting the Address to a Haggis,
O what a glorious sicht.
When I look out my window this evening
the Lancashire hills are transformed
becoming the Scottish Highlands
of my distant descendants.
I can hear the bagpipe tunes playing
ringing down through the generations,
calling out to me in whisper and in song,
speaking to my Highland heart.