The Mad Piper's Complaint
Were I a warrior
I'd pipe by your side
wade the shores of Normandy
to a soldier's death
Were I a poet
I'd write songs
of highland lads
piping savage beauty
and love
an old man I am
I hung my pipe on the wall
my fingers fumble
fading faces
of friends forgotten
on foreign lands
endlessly
a tingle down my spine
a tear
these I can
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copyright 2019 by Michael Nikoletseas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem