placid and serene,
a reflecting pool
of my magnificent Scotland.
Heritage and tradition,
a proud and noble condition.
I stand upon the shore,
a sentinel to the wonder
of the sweeping skies I am under.
The sun begins its ascent
and my contentment nears completion.
Bellows drive my incantation,
a gentile melody to bless this new morning.
And suddenly, these pipes are distracted,
an act of heresy to this heart. A wail
of unknown origin from the water’s edge,
The loud splash of a trident tail submerging.
Myth and legend appears alive and well.
‘Tis swell a day to be alive and well.