THE PIPER

The beach was clear and empty when he began his tribute, his lonely lament.

Homage to his friends who would never march again, to the commanding evocative music of his pipes.

With steady tread and head held high, he drew breath and slowly with effort stirring the bagpipes tenderly into life.

His music, powerfully sad, picked up by the wind, tossed and lost in the unending twilight sky.

His emotions were kept well stuffed inside, only a glimpse released through his sad playing.

He marched slowly from one end of the beach to the other, for their spirits to hear the homage to them, he was making.

It was another day, another time and in a battle when they were killed and finally parted.

Comrades in arms now no more, just remembered as they were frozen in time all those many years ago.

Near the end, when his breath was weakening, his tears started to gently flow.

He knew this might be the last time he could let them know his recognition of their incredible loss and his magnificent gain.

But being the only survivor carried an excruciating burden of guilt, loss and terrible pain.

At last, his lament was over, he paused, still as he could and called, 'goodbye my friends, until the day I know we are due to meet once again.'

The silence fell, his tribute was over.

2025 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen