Battle Of The Pipers. Poem by Barry Thompson

I dream of a land where I’ve never been,
A land yearning for their own chosen king,
In far-distant Scotland by me yet unseen,
And of the heartbreak wars always bring.

Lochs shimmering bright stretched below,
Mists veiled grey glitter in sunlit weather,
Caressing breezes from a cool north blow,
I’m mesmerized by the waltzing heather.

We dreamed of rule by our beloved King,
And fight and die with pride for this ideal.
We battle and risk our every earthly thing,
My inherited visions portrayed vividly real.

Green fields splashed with crimson blood,
Friend and foe try to take each other’s life.
Dismembered bodies feeding hungry mud,
Is freedom’s sad reward for child and wife.

Haunting cries break my sleep each night,
I grope for my sword but it is never there.
As I recall former days of Scotland’s fight,
My beaded brow clammy with matted hair.

English soldiers lined in rows to our right,
Raw emotion escapes my lips a stifled cry.
Now battle ready in the dismal fading light,
I ask God’s forgiveness should today I die.

Pipers loudly play their bold stirring sound,
As nothing makes a Scotsman more proud,
Than taking arms as hearts bravely pound,
Marching into battle bagpipes skirling loud.

I see my children with teary eyes appear,
My loving wife framed by soft flowing hair.
Loyalty weighs heavy though I feel no fear,
I fight for my King with sword and a prayer.