On the drive to work each day I watch the soldier's cemetery pass Everything seems equal there stone tablets standing attention, the grass trimmed by small brown skinned men I see a lady bend down, she kneels sets a cup full of wild flowers before two stones, I feel a hitch in my breath to watch Flags always in evidence the here and now of this place but this day each grave was adorned a tiny standard, its solemn face Warm day at the end of May I rolled my window down my senses immediately assaulted by a most deep and haunting sound My legs walked away from the car standing The first time I witnessed his marching tartan kilt his regal attire pipes slung over his shoulder moaning, set the morning afire There was certain precision to his gait distance practiced and known too well Here walked the souls of these soldiers to ring their lives with his mournful bell My heart was flushed with guilt its watching The lady, with a single flower came to gather up her man his pipes with their mournful singing She held his arm with her hand I went to the stone of her choosing where Ian the first was lain then to the end of the piper's walk the sky shed a tear of rain These eyes confused in their seeing A newer stone whose name the same here is lying Ian the third I followed the voice of the piper loneliest sound ever heard and there was Ian the Junior standing aside with his wife a fair compliment of mourners bidding farewell to a life What greed mine curiosity shown The pipes trailed away in their singing the reverend mumbled words to the sky that Lord, they are brave in their going these lads to their sweet by and by A final note owned the moment to soar with its soul way up high The crack of twenty-one rifles explanation mark against the sky What mortal undone was I Ian the second passed by me and proud, his pipes bellowed once more His wife let fall of her flower on top of that last mortal door And he paced from Ian to Ian this man that no one could save whose soldier's sin was still to be living with father and son in their graves And the rain hid my face from his eyes