The Piper is piping way up in the
glen.
You can hear him for many a mile.
When the drone, and the chanter, call
all Highland men,
To gather with flair and with style.
They look fine and so proud in their
own tartan cloth,
The Kilt, and the Dirk at the ready,
And we know they will not find nearly
enough,
Of the whisky to keep them all heady.
MacDonald, MacGregor, the rest of the
Clans,
Will meet and put strength to the
test.
The moot point of honour for every
man,
Is to prove that their Clan is the
best.
So gather, and gather, is surely a
must,
As tradition and past have decreed.
The Gael seeks his roots, and deems to
hold fast,
To his home, to his kin, and his
creed.
Yvonne Sparkes
November 2004
