Highland Games Poem by Joe C. Reed

Where the mist is on the meadow
and the sun's behind the mount
the Scot's are gathered yearly
to play their games and flount On Grandfather mountain's glenn
are gathered Scotland's kith & kin
They are anxiously waiting
They are waiting for the pipes to begin From the beautiful Ceilidh came Scottish songs
told over and over by multitudes of tongues
tales that we as Scotsmen longed to hear
songs of brave Scotland marching on without fear