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Poem by Robert Burns

To John Taylor

With Pegasus upon a day,
  	Apollo, weary flying, 
Through frosty hills the journey lay, 
  	On foot the way was plying.

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus
  	Was but a sorry walker;
To Vulcan then Apollo goes
  	To get a frosty calker.

Obliging Vulcan fell to work,
  	Threw by his coat and bonnet,
And did Sols business in a crack;
  	Sol paid him with a sonnet.

Ye Vulcans sons of Wanlockhead,
  	Pity my sad disaster;
My Pegasus is poorly shod 
  	Ill pay you like my master.


Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. No Churchman am I
  2. O Guid Ale Comes
  3. Auld Rob Morris
  4. A Fragment (No cold approach, no altered mien)
  5. My Bottle

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