Warp and Weft

The shuttle races back and forth

Click and clack. Click and clack.

Building up with warp and weft

That ancient tartan weave,

Defiant symbol of clan’s heritage

And steadfast loyalty

To Laird and Lord.

It has ever been so.

Shear and card, spin and weave

A plaid, a kilt or rustic homespun

Soaked in sweat of a day’s hard labour,

Or soaked instead in the blood of battle

Wether it be that of friend or foe

No difference. No difference.

Blood is going to be shed

On heather’d moors

Before this age is done.

It has ever been so.

Our greatest stories all writ in blood

And woven ell by ell,

Click and clack. Click and clack.

The shuttle weaves its endless story

Taking note the comings and the goings

Of our generations past

Born in the warp and weft

And product of the weaver’s craft.

It has ever been so.

By fireside or factory loom,

Once produced by crofters’ hearth,

It moved from hand to factory machine

Until long last it began to fade.

Now kept alive by wizened hands

And wisdom on the wrinkled brow

And lessons taught at old gran’s knee.

We treasure the old things,

The click and clack of the weavers loom

Clear water to wash the wool

Clean air to fill the lungs

Sheep enough for mutton and for wool.

We yearn to hear the click and clack

As the shuttle tells our story.

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