The Burn

© by Stephen Marrable

The wind whistles a haunting tune,
As hills look down upon the banks,
While the pines stand guard,
Above this mighty burn,

Eagles soar throughout the sky,
Deer roam and play,
And Otters swim,
Within the mighty burn,

With autumn tones fading,
Allowing the winter to creep in,
The first snows falling,
Cooling the mighty burn,

The pines shivering as the cold dark nights draw in,
Summer birds migrated,
As the winter slayer sets with,
Around this mighty burn,

A lonely piper plays his tune,
To the screams of yester year,
And the ghosts come a roaming,
To this mighty burn,

The waters that flow, once red with death,
The screams that do not fade,
So our lonely piper plays his tune,
To remember the fallen dead,

With the beat of the drum,
A clash of the sword,
So our men are slain,
The mighty burn that did see,
Lies down her weary head.

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03/02/08