Alone upon a hilltop,
Stood a piper boldly grand,
A soldier far away from home;
Scotland his homeland.
Sunset now behind him,
A lonely silhouette,
Hands upon the chanter,
So passionately set.
The finest of the finest,
The pride of Scotland’s best,
Black Watch Regimental medals,
Blazoned upon his chest,
Hot sun, not a hint of breeze,
To sway his pleated kilt.
His stoic comrade’s passion,
Would never ever wilt.
Troops standing at attention,
In the valley far below,
Heard the haunting melody,
As the tune began to flow.
“Amazing Grace how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me,
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind but now I see”
In perfect rank and file they stood,
Firearms reversed and still.
Lamenting sound filled the air,
Pipes melancholy shrill.
That Piper in the dying light,
Piped as nere before,
Haunting melody of pipes,
Brought shivers to the core.
Proud Scots, courageous men,
True soldiers one and all,
Called to war by their King,
They answered to the call.
They had come to honor heroes,
Those who’d lost their lives,
Men who’d left behind
Parents, children, wives;
Tears welling in the eyes,
Of those courageous men.
When would the next man die?
Not who, or why… but when.
Alf Hutchison
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