Love of my mother's Scotland knows no bounds,
Yet she, like me, was destined far to roam.
Her wistful music of the isles surrounds
My everyday, her voice so soft and low,
Sweet songs of love, and yet forever sad,
With veils of deepest melancholy clad.
A lonesome piper plays a slow lament,
Or, boldly rousing, urges men to war.
From kith and kin they were so often sent,
Their mist-clad hills and glens to see no more.
Or else to unknown futures overseas,
A greedy and uncaring laird to please.
Today, as Scottish hearts still strongly beat,
Proudly as ever do they wave their nation's flag.
Untrusting of the powers that would deplete
Their unity, their centuries old resolve,
To be a sovereign nation once again,
"O Flower of Scotland" their heartfelt refrain.
Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017