The Battle Poem by PAUL COLVIN

The battle lost, the blood runs free
Of bravest Scots who dared not flee
And with their lives they paid the price
That we’d be free, their sacrifice.

No kilts or sporrans on this shore
A sword, axe, shield was all they bore.
Their dress discarded before they’d go
To battle, agile, against the foe.

They fought with courage and with pride
All as one from far and wide.
This war is for the right to own
A land that’s theirs, their royal throne.

That slicing sound when steel cuts flesh
And mashing thud when axe grinds mesh.
The screeching as the swords collide
Our soldiers, rampant, side by side.

The skirl of pipes lifts our ravaged band,
The highland charge is his command.
Outnumbered by a horde to one
This army, doomed, before the fight’s begun.

Arrows pierce the skies above
And rain on down the land we love.
Our soldiers fall in numbers strong
A hundred left from once a throng.

A broken head, a severed hand
Diminishing our brave wee band.
A headless body, wriggling lies
Across his foe, before he dies.

A glistening sword comes swooping down
A gush of blood comes from his crown
He falls so still on sandy dune
As pipers play a battle tune.

The slaughtered pipers, none so brave,
Defenceless men sent to their grave.
There’s no lament, for none are left
Hacked to death and all bereft.