The Piper

The skirl of pipes oer battles storming
Draws together Highland blood
Hails the straggling from the trenches;
Drags the wounded from the mud

Striding out of gritty gases,
Breathing in the deadly air
Telling them of trickling water:
Memries of a land so fair

Soon the dying see the thistles,
Call them back to loved ones home
Where the rain-cloud holds no shrapnel
Where a laddies neer alone