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.
