I think not myself a king,
Nor a nobleman of Scotland’s historic castles still grand.
Yet through grand Scottish hospitality am
granted to feel nothing less,
Than as a royal guest no less of kings and queens of this magical realm.
Thy honor is as my sword, I swore it to always
be True.
For it is because of thee makes my heart and pen forever bold for you.
It was told and even sung in many ballads of
minstrels and bards long ago,
That many a hearts are lost in battles on foreign ground so far from home.
Yet I fear not even deaths mighty hand to take
my life amidst the worst battles fray.
Because if it was meant to be, on no sweeter heather heath that grand day could I
be.
My heart to thee was given long ago,
To keep safe behind the treasure room doors of my ancestral home.
For in my royal heartland castle there is but
one true treasure,
I hold above all that I know to be most precious and dear.
Scotland a kingdom adorn in an emerald gown,
jeweled with heather and thistle crown,
Scotland ‘Tis where my heart will forever after always be found. |
