Morning of Rachel Reeves Spring statement

To Rachel Reeves, a Tim’rous Lassie

(In the Style of Robert Burns’ “To a Mouse”)

O Rachel, lass, sae shrewd and keen,
Ye weigh the tax on what’s unseen,
Wi’ policies baith sharp and clean—
Yet fowk may wail,
For coin sae scarce, hard-won and mean,
Slips frae their tail.

Auld Burns himsel', a gauger true,
Kent weel the pains o’ taxin’ due,
Yet aft he saw the farmer’s rue—
His toil in vain,
For land was lean, the crops were few,
And fu’ o’ pain.

His plough was stilled, his fields lay bare,
Nae golden wheat waved in the air,
And sae he turned to rhyming rare,
Wi’ pen in hand,
Yet scant his purse, and fu’ o’ care,
In Scotia’s land.

Ill health did claw his weary frame,
He sought relief in ale’s warm flame,
Yet in the inns, he found nae blame—
But comrades fine,
And left his Jean to tend the hame,
Wi’ bairns in line.

Now, Rachel, wi’ yer chancellor’s might,
Ye plan reforms to set things right,
Yet watch ye weel the labour’s plight,
The farmer’s toil,
Lest like puir Burns, they fade frae sight,
Wi’ nought but soil.

For Jean’s like hers still stand alane,
Wi’ ne’er a hand nor public gain,
While wealth still trickles, sae profane,
To those wi’ store—
Gie heed, lest ye but shift the pain,
And tax them more.

O Lass, may wisdom guide yer hand,
To balance fair, to ken, to stand,
For toil and talent, land to land,
Wi’ honest grace,
Else Burns may rise, wi’ ghostly brand,
To plead his case!