Lullaby of Bagpipers

On Celtic notes of bagpipers

on the vast green highlands

behind those infinite pastures,

swaying pristine cherry-blooms leaves

with the melodies of autumn 

winds, sits a mother nightingale

delicately twining, weaving ashen 

wigs to build a nest for land’s

cold harsh winters for her 

five little fragile babies  

on Celtic lullaby of



On this brave land of martyrs 

dwells aching women

longing for their

wounded men

to come





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