In Scottish mythology, warriors who fell
in battle returned as flowers
in the forest.
A cloud in dawn's silver light,
The mist of a mother's love,
Drifts sadly over the hills and
Glens of Culloden Field
While the wind,
a faint Echo of long ago pipes,
Wails an eternal dirge over
Alba's fallen sons, asleep
Beneath flowered biers of heather.
True warriors of sword and feather,
You marched that day for
Scotland's crown and freedom.
But Victory, ever fickle, turned
Her face from Culloden Field, while,
To skirling pipes and cannon's roar,
You began your journey beyond breath
Into flowers of holiest bloom.
Published in the 2005 Clan Donnachaidh Annual