Out of the mists of Scottish Highlands
The Spirit came
Its deep lamenting piobaireachd
(Remembering Lain MacOg)
the silver chanter sending its notes
across the misty fields
Like fog, the music drifted
Stirring the mortal souls
in deeds of bravery and honor
against processions of enemies
followed by swords and longbows.

Down through history's warring tentacles
To France's distant fields
Ever sounding, sending brave warriors
Through misty gas with bayonets and rifles
Into useless carnage in the name
Of the Great War
And the spirit lament of MacCrimmon
Remembered thousands of bodies beneath
The soil.
Again the Piper touched his chanter
Again the Uriar was raised and Death played on
In a Second Great Struggle shifting from Siubhal
to Taoriuath its melodic strands lost in
napalm, machine guns and atomic power
ending once again on bloodied, silent fields.

And still the pipes stir the spirit
This time in peace at Christmas Tide
On another distant shore it plays
To unremembered memories through
Windows clear and sparkling tinsel
No battlements to breech
No blood will stain this heroic march
For happiness and joy are all it yields
In Chicago's giant Marshall Fields.

- S. E. Turner -