The Buik that gaed tae Space

I’m the buik that gaed intae space.
Nae the Dandy or the Beano
Nae Trainspottin or Sunset Sang
Nae The Dear Green Place
Na. I’m the buik that crosses aa ages
I cairry Burns’s wirk atween ma pages

Fur twa wikks I orbited the Eirde 
Twa hunner an seeventeen times
Sic a birlin-aboot tirrivee
Fair jurmummled the great bard’s rhymes

Noo that I’m hame an sattled
It’s time tae takk stock
I miss the meen, as close as lugs tae a heid
An the lunar scene frae the windae 
As the muckle yetts opened tae dock!

Haud the bus! Thon wis a stammygaster!
A deid, dour, dowie, disjaskit stoory baa
This desert that inspired sic imaginins
Queen o the Druids, fa gart the gyte roar in their staas
Fa kittled the hochs o luvers,
Camin throw the rye, hairst happenins
Fa pued the tides, an ruled the warld’s oceans
This grey, cauld satellite o lunar commotions

An far is Aitken Drum?, 
Far’s  Wee Willie Winkie?
Far’s the Buddhist rubbit?
Far’s  the  werewolves an vampires
Up tae their murderous jinkies?

Aa tummlit doon like a biggit touer o cairds
Meen, that wis the dearie o priests an bards

Still, masel, (His buik that thoosans o miles
Up in the lift has furled)
The keeper o Burns’s poems 
Hae bin truly ooto this warld

Beat thon, mannie Shakespeare
Ye’ve niver reached the stars
Niver seen the meen as a stop on a cultural tour
Neist appearance Mars