The Lone Bagpiper

What devil’s wind howls the night,

Its course caress,

And immortal might,

Doth pierce the soul and stab the heart.

Figures in the streets below,

Hurry to and fro.

In mass and crowd people doth stride,

with shoulders heaved and heads low bowed.

To and fro like empty ghouls,

If only looking up

From hands that cup,

To see a man known as fool.

This lone man I spy,

His cap turn’d sideways,

Standing cold.

A gleam of starlight in his eye.

In kilted squares of green and gold.

I wonder, I wonder…

Why o’ Why?

Shrill and loud his pipes doth cry

Each note and sound his muscles burn

Yet, not one strange passerby will turn,

Nor look, nor wince, nor blink an eye

He does not play for pleasing crowd,

Love of country doth make him proud.

His song of her’s is all its takes

To make a bagpipe sing in place.

What warmth and comfort his pipes do gift,

To one as lost as I,

His song doth make my spirits lift

And give my weakening soul a glimpse

Into heaven

soft and bright.