We were the peasant men We were Schiltron spearmen Pulling spuds from land By hand. Enraged into army formations Vanished into woodlands. Until no more of taking, had enough! A gale came rough, tough as mud Swept through fields of Elderslie Where a once barefoot bairn, Grew into – if grown at all – the raider Of outlawed noblemen. Among those trained for hit and run We would ken much more About freedom. On high ground Before a high road They trapped the chainmail vanguard. On slaughter bridge of Sterling More than cowards fled Many later found dead. Until Bannockburn Delivered a victory blow Lowland Run-Rig farmers Highland foragers Grew enough for themselves For all of us Go and overcome.
Wonderful, David!! Well done.