The Pipes

I hear the pipes a-calling,
Calling me from my sleep.
They bid me come and follow
To where the moon shines through the trees.

I hear the pipes a-calling,
Beckoning with a haunting melody.
I am afraid to follow,
So I close my eyes and hide beneath the sheets.

I hear the pipes a-calling,
Inviting me to dance under the trees.
My mind asks, “Who plays the pipes?”
A voice whispers, “Come and see…”

I hear the pipes a-calling,
My soul cries to be set free,
They call until I can no longer resist,
So I follow their eerie music finally.

I hear the pipes a-calling,
Leading me beside a flowing stream.
Unseen pipers play while I dance
And forget the world around me.

I hear the pipes a-calling,
Lulling me soon to sleep.
I awake, home again,
The pipes — a fading dream.

I hear the pipes a-calling,
Calling me from my sleep.
They bring to mind a carefree time
That lingers, temptingly, in my memories.


One Response to “The Pipes”

  1. One of my older poems, this was written in the mid-1980s. I’ve always been entranced by the sound of bagpipes, this was written after hearing some pipers perform near the university campus.

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