Open Poetry #40 |
Traveler's Tale 31, Culloden (I was inspired to repost after reading Suthern's) |
Gunslinger Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 901TX, USA |
Sixteen, April, 'forty-six…. The day in Scottish memory lives. An' many Scotsman 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". |
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© Copyright 2007 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Thank you, John, for bringing back this story to us...lest we ever forget what history is made of... Thank you. |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
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. Thank you for reposting this, John. *S* I've always thought that the greatest compliment a poet can receive is to inspire another... whether it be to write or to remember one written. *S* There are moments of my life I'll remember all my life... standing on that moor at dusk in front of a simple stone titled Mixed Clans... and being moved to kneel... is one of those moments I can't explain... and will never forget. This touching write is going into my library of treasures. *S* |
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