Awa Tae France

The battles ower ,smoke settles ower the moor, Clans are broken flying aff tae the hills. Redcoated sodjers mingle with red Heilan blude, Killing the wounded in Drumossie mud. Oor Prince has fled leaving dreams in the dust, Of a Stuart oan the throne that was oor lust, like the heron scared of mans approach fleeing his home being taen awa tae France. Some say he was a bonnie lad cam frae italia way, Heir tae the royale throne pretending tae be king, Nae clue or fighting skill but the bonnie prince could sing. Noo he was being led awa tae catch a boat tae tak him awa. It was spoken of in tones hushed and still, Ane day he wid return tae claim the throne, Frae ower the watter oor king wid come, Alang wi lairds cawed awa tae France. © Andrew Provan McIntyre 2016-05-28