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Culloden Moor: historic poem

Updated on January 12, 2012
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April 16 1746


There is no true dawn this day;

the clouds that rain sleet hide the sun.

A muddy marshland waits

to cushion the falls of all the soldiers

and cradle the men who will lay dying.

Among a pool of blue tartans

one boy, clothed in ragged plaid,

stands with arms crossed atop his claymore

and waits for the battle to begin.

Peat colored eyes search through

the fractured rainbow of clan colors

to find the white horse and its ‘Bonnie’ rider.

He believes in his prince,

this white knight of chivalry,

who will cower before the red dragon of Britain,

desert the dying clansmen,

and swim for safer shores.

This massacre will be the last on British soil.

But the boy doesn’t know that;

all he sees is the enemy in red,

all he hears is the call to charge,

and all he knows is that this is his fight.




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