It was a beautiful August day as I read for James Barke apart from series on the life of Scotland’s poem Robert Burns. It was on an April Sunday night that he shouted ”’goodbye, good bye! . There were many friends he had not- and wouldnot- be able to see in the flesh before he left Edinburgh. He must write them a good bye note. He said to himself. Courtesy dictated writing his thanks to many friends. At last, he travelled from Edinburgh to Newcastle, from Newcastle to Dumfries and from Dumfries…home: sweet Ayrshire. The poet Robert Burns erected a memorial stone for his friend Robert Fergusson. James Barke recounted his story as follows: “Some withered weeds lingered on his grave. There was nothing to indicate that there lay the remains of a man whose verses were immortal. They had murdered him. Some food from over their burdened tables would have preserved his health. He had mocked them: he had laughed at their pride and pretentions. He had not bowed before their empty glittering hours. He praised simple elements of life. His heart had sung at the sight of a butterfly in a city street. He concluded.
According to James Barke “The poet Robert Burns once said “‘ Jobbery and corruption constitute the daily bread of party politicians. And yet we must realize that reform can only come through politicians- but politicians of a very different kind” What kind of politicians have you in mind Mr. Burns ? Someone asked. He replied “ Honest men sir, Men who will put the welfare of their country and their people before any private personal gain.”‘. Our politicians have done their homework. It is our hope that they will not renegade from their promises. The joy, happiness that radiated in Kornithia hotel prevailed in the country that boiled in a stew of anger and frustration. The long negotiations crowned in a success that has put an end to chaos and disorder. From Michael Asher’s book” Khartoum, the Ultimate Imperial A adventure” I recall Queen Victoria remark” This fine peaceful country deserves to live in peace. The poet Robert Fergusson heart sang for a butterfly but let us sing for butterflies in a city street. What about the Gash River butterflies??1
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