My Heart, My Kilt, My Tartan.
From decades long past
Through the days of now,
I’ve always fancied the kilt,
My heart, she’d taken somehow.
She’d sashay and sway,
When turned, she’d swing,
While most men who wore her
Would pipe or they’d sing.
The day finally came,
A kilt came my way,
Hand made by family,
What more to say.
Of family or group,
Clan or sept, it’s not,
But a kilt nevertheless
Is exactly what I’ve got.
No tartan, but suiting,
And PV, not wool,
But to me, she’s my own,
I was empty, I’m now full
I’ve been captured, entranced,
Slain if you must,
By the grace, the beauty,
The unforeseen lust
A man trying to do right
By all that I can,
I’ve searched trees and branches
To find this man
Just where are my roots,
To which family or clan,
I find a high wall,
A bridge that does not span.
Fifteen hundred the year,
Of much turmoil it is said,
This is where the search stops,
Leaving no thread
To this conclusion,
So far have I come,
The Emerald Isle,
Of her blood I have some.
That’s only part of the equation
Up until this day,
The other half is from Old Blighty,
Or merry old England let’s say.
Please don’t misunderstand,
To me this is no disgrace,
My heritage is my family,
And that is my place.
So my love of the kilt
And a tartan to find,
Will be to my liking,
To my heart it will bind.
Worn in truth, honor
And utmost respect,
If it were mine,
What more could I expect?
So if you see me strolling,
My beauty at my side,
Wearing your tartan, know this,
I wear it with pride.
Blood of a scot,
In my veins may not flow,
But my love for the kilt
Will forever grow.
…Faithwalker…
Bookmarks