Skirl of the Pipes

 

Photo from Chapel of the Chimes

 

 

laid cold in his prime
the blue line of duty
abruptly erased
service drawn to an end
orphaned citizens
sensing their loss
feel impersonal grief
in the skirling of pipes
giving ritual dirge
rigid brethren in rows
of white glove salutes
left to contemplate
perils of fate in the
moan and the mourn
of the sorrowful noise
solemn song of tradition
reserved for this place
its gray gardens of stone
grim companions who
welcome their new
fallen brother-in-arms
hero husband a father
and son claimed by
ultimate destiny
called to the sacrifice
etched in the words
of his long ago oath

 

 

From my books Small Noise and Legacies (vol. 2)