Pipes of Glengarry



Pipes of Glengarry
Tears fall under the rising of a Scottish moon
as lasses line the streets for the coming doom
while highlanders march off to the conflict end
distant to the Glen from the Garry River bend.

A glint of sun now appears upon crimson sash
Gaelic's dressed in tartan red
white and black
with basket-hilt broadswords next to their thighs
as the bonny pipes play their bellowing death cry.

I must now go my sweet love I must go you see
I must now join with them
the Clan Mac Donnelly
With my claymore in hand
onto the battlefield
I will fight the Mackenzie's with sword and shield.

If I fall at Morar on this day
my final thought is the love you gave
I will cherish every moment we spent in our lover's twine
just knowing in my last seconds you were mine.

The Clan MacDonald now waits for me
I must go while my heart will allow me
the pipes will play for the land of Shome
which has always been our clan's home.

Much blood shall spill on this day
yet i will not ever run away
pray for my soul I ask of thee
as the pipe play on in Glengarry.

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Submitted on July 05, 2016

Modified on March 05, 2023

1:03 min read
2

Quick analysis:

Scheme AXBCC XXXXX AXAXDD EXFF AABX EEAA
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 1,024
Words 207
Stanzas 6
Stanza Lengths 5, 5, 6, 4, 4, 4

Norman Wilson

IntroductionForgotten are the times the tick of a clock once chimed sobering sounds that caressed my hearts nightly dreams. As I awaken to the touch of light that burns upon a candles wick flickering my words for all to see. This drives my thoughts through the darkest of nights of loneliness that renders my quill upon parchment with ink that dances to minds and souls.Now I hear the screeching of my heart when the blue horizon covers the orb of emptiness.Within the shelter of my mind with little, purpose other than my words that keep me sane. These are my new poems I have written in the quiet of my night, forever wished away in a writer’s pain. As I strive to write that perfect poem that, my soul desperately seeks. Then and only then can my words rest upon a sleep. more…

All Norman Wilson poems | Norman Wilson Books

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