An Ode To the Banterers of Scotland

A land where chilly hills wallow over their boundaries, Creating an essence of warmth and amity. A land with toothsome pies and and leaf encrusted foundries. Resembling the image of a foreign filled fantasy. A land full of happiness and love For all who come With shining crossed heavens above Till the day is done. An island with such admiration and lure, Must have had a similar past But What if I told you, that the historic stories are so very poor, That for many years, a clouded gloom was forever cast. Hills as bare as a bony shattered back Fragments of ebullient mud and moist Still Beaten by dear talents they lack Yet their opinions are forever voiced. We trotted the damp and dirty shores With English shackles on our hearts. Despair and whiskey pervading our pores. Division and woe, but never truly apart. Decades later and through the brim, We see a chance we cannot deny. "Take to the polls", but the outcome still seems grim, The stakes and divisions have never been so high. "You won't survive, you're weak, you can't" "I am strong enough I can!" - - I shan't! The Scottish people have spoken Screams, and shouts from old Big Ben, "Scotland dearest, we still own ya!" May she not make the same mistake again For we must all protect and cherish our Caledonia