Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop. Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop.
"Where is that noise coming from?" I thought to myself as I sat down at the computer.
It sounds like it's coming from upstairs. Is it the furnace? Why is the furnace making that noise?
Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop. Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop.
-
I've never tried, but I'll bet it's difficult to make a living as a poet.
That's probably why Robert Burns spent so much time working as a farmer.
One day in November of 1785, Robert and his friend were plowing a field near their home in Scotland. As they worked their way up and down the rows, they inadvertently dug up a mouse's nest.
The mouse dashed away and Robert's friend pursued, intent on killing it with his plow-scraper.
Robert stopped him and told him to let the mouse go on its way. The friend argued and wondered why anyone would care so much for what was obviously a pest.
They went back to work, but Robert continued thinking about the incident. That night he sat down and expressed his feelings in the poem "To a mouse".
It begins with him explaining to the mouse that he means no harm.
Wee, sleek, cowering, timorous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need not start away so hasty
With bickering brattle!
I would be loath to run an' chase thee,
With murdering paddle.
He apologizes for destroying the mouse's home.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An' fellow mortal!
In the next few verses Robert explains how he didn't really mind the mouse taking some of his corn now and then. And he regrets that the mouse will have a hard time building a new home since it will be winter soon and all of the grass is gone.
And then come some of the most well-known lines of all of Burns' poetry.
But Mousie, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leaves us naught but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
Still thou art blessed, compared with me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear!
We all have our problems in life. Some are big, some are small.
But at least that little mouse only worries about the present.
-
Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop. Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop.
It seems that the noise is coming from my office. Tempted by the remains of yesterday's lunch, a mouse has gotten into my wastepaper basket and can't jump high enough to get himself out.
You have to admire the fact that he hasn't given up.
But I still tipped the whole thing into the dumpster.
"Where is that noise coming from?" I thought to myself as I sat down at the computer.
It sounds like it's coming from upstairs. Is it the furnace? Why is the furnace making that noise?
Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop. Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop.
-
I've never tried, but I'll bet it's difficult to make a living as a poet.
That's probably why Robert Burns spent so much time working as a farmer.
One day in November of 1785, Robert and his friend were plowing a field near their home in Scotland. As they worked their way up and down the rows, they inadvertently dug up a mouse's nest.
The mouse dashed away and Robert's friend pursued, intent on killing it with his plow-scraper.
Robert stopped him and told him to let the mouse go on its way. The friend argued and wondered why anyone would care so much for what was obviously a pest.
They went back to work, but Robert continued thinking about the incident. That night he sat down and expressed his feelings in the poem "To a mouse".
It begins with him explaining to the mouse that he means no harm.
Wee, sleek, cowering, timorous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need not start away so hasty
With bickering brattle!
I would be loath to run an' chase thee,
With murdering paddle.
He apologizes for destroying the mouse's home.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An' fellow mortal!
In the next few verses Robert explains how he didn't really mind the mouse taking some of his corn now and then. And he regrets that the mouse will have a hard time building a new home since it will be winter soon and all of the grass is gone.
And then come some of the most well-known lines of all of Burns' poetry.
But Mousie, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leaves us naught but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
Still thou art blessed, compared with me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear!
We all have our problems in life. Some are big, some are small.
But at least that little mouse only worries about the present.
-
Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop. Scuffle-scuffle, whoosh, plop.
It seems that the noise is coming from my office. Tempted by the remains of yesterday's lunch, a mouse has gotten into my wastepaper basket and can't jump high enough to get himself out.
You have to admire the fact that he hasn't given up.
But I still tipped the whole thing into the dumpster.
I think I'll share this with my fourth period class. The boys will love that you threw the mouse away. The girls will be upset, which they love to do (Eighth grade is prime-time for drama queens). And I'll be sharing poetry with them. It's a win, win, win.
ReplyDeleteJust make sure you read it in your best Scottish accent!
ReplyDelete