The Pipers Prayer ©
For Johnny Lippiat an original member of the best rock band Scotland ever endured, "The Versatyles". This man has buried more people with his pipes than the black plague ever did.
Thomas Matthew Edgar
No, I don't speak of pipers pied,
or pansy pipes of pan.
Or the Piper with a son called Tom,
where the ragged rascal ran.
Nor do I mean those Paddie's pipes,
for I'd not give a fig
for anything that sounds so close,
to the cry of a wounded pig.
Or Peter Piper picking peppers,
pickled peck or not.
The pipes of which I wish to speak,
are those played by a Scot.
Symphonious in their range and tone,
where hill and mountains span.
That glorious piece of country,
where a man, is still a man.
Those Tartan lands, where the chest expands,
and the Haggis still roams free.
Where the pipers skirl, as the dancers whirl,
to the strains of "The Rowan Tree".
My one desire, is that when I expire,
and for me it's the end of story.
As they put me down, it will be to the sound
of the pipes . . . and "The Tunes of Glory".