Bonnie Prince Charlie (Slight Return)
By Angusfolklore
- 166 reads
You saw him at the foot of the ancestral staircase,
not quite see through but wavering
in the sunlight heavy with Cairngorm dust,
like midges feasting on their prey.
His thought form seemed uncertain,
not sure whether to manifest
in a world that had moved on
from his weary myth at last.
Once he was Europe’s breathless darling;
he set now-dead nations’ tongues trembling.
But the White Rose is unrisen,
not withered but gone, made brittle
by the subtle British lies the writers
of dark state secrets shroud tied
him into.
In his uncertain after-place his tears
are gathered up by lesser angels,
diamonds for downtrodden ideals.
O Teàrlach, Charles of the Battles,
your bitterness was hard bought
from the men who fell at Drummossie.
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