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Haunting AirsA waiting silence is fractured by a eerie piercing shrill, A sound meant to menace yet a sound meant to thrill, Air creates an underlying drone forcing reeds to vibrate, To a Celt its a drone of love but their foes a sound to hate, For every Scot learns to listen from the day of their birth, A haunting air, a haunting feel from the glens to the firth, That very essence of our being, bringing pride to our heart, Intent to strike fear in a rival and more courage on our part, When on a misty, peaceful morning a low octave fills the glen, A proud sound permeating, the large hearts of highland men, A lone piper now stands aloft, playing music learned so young, With traditional airs accompany, stirring words of verses sung, Listen to massed pipes and drums, no other instrument can command, We may not have invented them but it belongs uniquely to this land, Flower of Scotland, Highland Cathedral, the rendition of the Black Bear, Heart stirring music appealing to our soul, no other nation can compare, We export these haunting airs to a world, to share what we have got, Like our emigration around the world, yet our heritage is still a Scot It's meant for marches of unity, to extol a virtue that's strong and true, I have cherished this music all my life and now I wish the same for you. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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