Mark E. Brotherton

TO A SON

Sole to pavement the list is long
Years of payment in blood and bone
‘Tis the family past
Grab at some kind of a future with a bloody grasp
Those who made it, fared well
Those who did not. who could tell
I march there somewhere, far away
But my young son, it’s not to war today
We march to the beckoning pipes through an ancient town
They marched before me those of our kin
They marched to the call to fight and succeed
But now listen my son and pray take heed
Don’t hear the pipes of today’s parade
Don’t run along beside the marching men
For the pipes will call for you at a foolish age
To play a deadly part on someone else’s stage
Listen my fair child with the golden hair
Don’t let your deep blue eyes stare
Forget what you’ve heard or what you may have seen
And live another life, instead of one that might have been