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The Pipes
by Leonard M HawkesAmerican by birth,
Nurtured by Western sagebrush,
Salt grass, and alkali soil;
Watered with mountain snows.
And a mind Germanic:
English language, literature, history;
Legacy of emigrants Anglo-Saxon,
Swiss, Danish, embellished with Dutch.
But the pipes, the pipes
Somehow always smolder within;
A Celtic core that flares in tears
With their sonorous, reedy tone.
02/02/2008 Author's Note: Moved by a funeral
Posted on 02/02/2008
Copyright © 2026 Leonard M Hawkes
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/03/08 at 05:31 AM I love it personally when I get material out of something like that. I can tell the funeral had a pretty strong effect on you. Wonderful work. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 02/21/08 at 05:39 PM Captivating descriptiveness. My first thought was musical heartburn, though after I would say a rich combination to my mind's ear. |
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