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The Works of Charles Fraser
Bugle’s Blow

Early morning dampness
Sharpen's senses
Of pending doom
To this day comes.
Highland lads
Peer into grey mist
Waiting for intruders
To this way come.
Swords, axes, dirks
Will spill foreign blood
Upon the heather
And gorse
Protecting the Highlands
Forever more
As we have
Since time began
Wrapped in tartans
Clan to clan
They will never claim
Our land.
From a distance
They are heard
Earth shuddering from their armour
As they cross Bannockburn
Into water soaked meadow
They did sink
Weighed down by arrogance
Slaughtered by fierce
Scottish pride
This day for many
Would be their last
So far to come
Just to die
And hear their
Bugle's blow.


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