




But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow fall on the river, A moment white – then melts forever
Robert “Rabbie” Burns (1759-1796), Scots language poet





But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow fall on the river, A moment white – then melts forever
Robert “Rabbie” Burns (1759-1796), Scots language poet