Gossamer the web of light-
Wove by the sun among the trees.
To paint an eerie, faery sight…
Enhanced by fragrant, shifting breeze.
Well might one look for leprechauns..
Or sleeping princess on a bier-
And step with care on such a path…
And shun with dread each sighted fire.
And to this setting Traveler came-
And long the miles he left behind.
The curse of time’s dread weight his bane
And years of memories on his mind.
“Ha’ done”! he cries in deep distress.
“A pox on immortality-
My friends an’ lovers long are dead-
An’ there remainest only me,
To bear me sword, to fight me wars-
A Scotsman wha’ wi’ Wallace bled…
An’ cursed the wicked English king..
Who’s hate demanded William’s head.
But, ah, at Bannockburn, the worm-
Did turn when Bob, the Bruce, cried he-
“Ye bled wi’ Wallace, noble Scots-
Now, ‘oo will come an’ bleed wi’ me”?
An’ bleed we did, but so did they-
An’ ere another sunrise broke….
We whipped them fair, the English dogs!
An’ broke the dreaded English yoke.
A Scotsman’s not a Scot at all-
Unless ‘is soul and body’s free-
Like Wallace an’ ‘is kindred cried-
For me it’s Death or Liberty.
But I must haste for I digress-
I’ll make me fire in yonder vale…
The setting sun is hasting fast-
For now I’ll end me Traveler’s Tale.