The Piper Plays Piobaireachd

My son plays the pipes
Immersing me in tartan dreams
That call up ghosts of deeds
That did and sis not happen
Amidst the rocky glens and lochs
Of Scotland, Cape Breton and Glengarry
Moldering in the rocky ruins of hope
And the festering wounds inflicted
For valour and clan and the moment.
And as the last note sounds and the
Silence sweeps in, blood slows a little
And all in hearing for a moment
Are Scottish.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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