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She Called Me Lassie ©

Nancy Purves
Calgary, Canada
2003

My old grannie called me lassie,
She fed me scones and tea,
She loved to laugh and loved to play,
but she didn't tell stories to me.

No tales heard I of the highlands,
or climbing the hills of heather.
My Dad said, "Just forget it,
there's nothing there but the weather."

I didn't tell them why I asked
for I was a child of seven.
But that morn some pipers had passed my way
and I'd had my first taste of heaven.

Some wild great joy had seized my heart,
I shuddered and grabbed at my throat.
Hot tears sprang fast to my eyes that burned
By a sword I felt myself smote.

Now I too am old and my tale can be told,
though it feels like a crime now confessed.
For those pipes called me from the mists of the glens
and forever I've felt myself blessed.


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