Poetry of Burns
Robert Burns
born 1759, died 1796 |
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John Anderson, My Jo
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We 've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand ind hand we 'll go;
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
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