»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #45
»
Tale # 31 (Culloden)
| Open Poetry #45 |
|
Tale # 31 (Culloden) |
|
|
Gunslinger Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 901TX, USA 
|
Sixteen, April, 'forty-six…. The day in Scottish memory lives. An' many Scotsmen crossed the Styx- We'll not forget, much less forgive. Bonnie Charlie, at the fore- As we marched to meet the foe… English Lord, and German troops… How much lower could they go? Sleet? Aye, that! An' freezin' winds Blowin' right into our faces… But fight we must, and fight we did… Retreat, the Scottish name disgraces. Tired? Aye , laddie, that we were. So tired tha' we could 'ardly stand. But wi' our blades, an' guns, an' guts- We met the Duke o' Cumberland. Like tha' ill-fated Light Brigade… We 'ad to face the flamin' guns . In the center, right, and left… A Scotsman dies but never runs. In the van, our Bonnie Prince- Charlie, in 'is tartan coat, Bonnet wi' a white cockade… We seen 'im through the flame an' smoke. Outnumbered nearly two to one- Exhausted; yet to fight we came… An' wrote our names in letters large… For all 'ave 'eard Culloden's fame. The saddest part o' all I guess- An' wha' I never understood… Is 'ow it sadly came to pass- Tha' Scots were shedding Scottish blood. Culloden? Aye, I knew it well- Where more than courage stood the test- But in an hour we 'ad lost- Our 'opes, our dreams, an' Scotland's best. So much for blades, so much for guns- So much for armor, an' for mail- In minds, the battle's won, or lost- Or, so declares "the Traveler's Tale". |
||
| © Copyright 2009 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
Alison 
since 2008-01-27
Posts 9318Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy! |
Every night you leave me wanting more. A |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
