The Highlander

Poem about Coludden

The Highlander by kenanstiss

 

 

The young man stands alone, in despair,

His weapon gone, his flaming red hair,

His tartan flying, high into the air,

His cry was for Scotland,

But who doth care.

 

 

The Red coats surround that brave young band,

Cursing and swaring, they stepped foot on this land.

Dreaming of home, of sea, and the sand,

Their jackets torn,

by a bloodied hand.

 

 

Their muskets are loaded, they slowly take aim,

Balls of hot lead, fly true, and to maim.

Soldiers of death, they live up to their name.

A body shot through,

and never the same.

 

 

Claymores are driven deep inside,

Into the darkness where fear doth hide,

Into the hearts, of an Englishman’s pride.

Into the mud,the battle flags slide,

Scotland the brave.

 

 

 

The butcher Cumberland has sickened this day,

Led  Englishmen to Slaughter and murder per say,

The death and the guilt, through their conscience they pay.

The field at Coludden ,the blood and the spray,

Of the noble Scottish Highlanders, that died that day.

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Paul B. Spence]

Excellence use of rhyme to achieve the traditional feel for this piece.

I can feel the stir of a battle march and hear the drums. Very vivid imagery. Very good poem.

[AndyJCash]

Nice poem! I'm not very clued up on the history of fighting between the English and the Scottish, but this has given me a very good sense of it.

[Darryl Davis]

Nice write! I plan to holiday in the Highlands next month...I'll be looking over my shoulder now ;-)