Ah, lass, and ’tis a brutal night-
Too bad for man or beast.
I’d like a flagon of your best-
And bite to eat at least….
No beds? It matters not at all-
I’ll sleep on yonder floor-
And wi’ me naked blade to hand-
I’ll gladly guard yon door.
Who am I? Names don’t count a wit
It’s what I am that counts
And what I do that pays me way-
And settles me accounts.
A soldier! Aye, all that and more!
A Scotsman if ye please!
I’ve marched to battle to the pipes-
While English took their ease.
How old? Now lass, I canna say-
I guess I dinna recall.
When I first came the bloody moon-
Was very.very small.
Me, sword ye say? It’s different…
I guess it is at that,
Here near the hilt’tis slender-
Where Scottish swords are fat.
And shorter, too: than average.
By near a foot I guess..
But in the heat of battle-
The short sword is the best.
Rufo used to tell us…..
Hmm, where’d I get that name..
I don’t recall the rascal’s face,
And thats a bloomin’ shame.
I watched as Rome was burning-
I know tis hard to b’lieve-
For centuries ha’ passed twixt then
And this, so stormy eve…
A, soldier lass, I swear ’tis so.
Upon me very life
By salt, by fire, the banshee’s cry;
And by me Khyber knife.
What’s that? Ye’d have me move along?
On such a night as this?
I’m daft ye say? I’ve done gone on?
Ah, ye’re mistaken, Miss…
Well, lass, I’ll brave the elements
No roof for me poor head….
If not for soldiers such as I
Ye’d all long since be dead.
I marched wi’ Ceasar’s legions
And fought in the Crusades,
An’many donneybrooks between
Which memory evades.
Aye, leave I will, and curse the place
And curse you pretty Miss,
To turn the Traveler from your door
On such a night as this..
General
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Don’t know if you’re a Scotsman, but I enjoyed the accent. Nice imagery. :o)
Of Scot-Irish descent and my mother was born in Gauley Bridge.