HOME | DD

Description
My cousin gave him that nickname
at the house of our aunt and uncle
and it stuck like glue in my mind
to the image of the man with his twin
canes in his hands, the sun at his back
and a crooked smile, saying to me
"Won't you play Duncan the Brave?"
That was his favorite tune, his anthem,
and I, his herald, signal his arrival to the clan.

I saw the caps in a store in Williamsburg,
the colors of our clan caught my eye
and I knew they were meant for us.
The light blue and green dyes of the ancient
and the darker shades of the new,
one for him and one for me so I would
never forget the heritage
that binds us all together.

A woolen mesh of white and red lines lying on top
of crisscrossing bars of green and blue,
they seem strange to most people;
it's just a pretty plaid with no meaning,
so when I wear the colors they say to me
"Hey man, nice hat," and they smile and nod,
not seeing what lies beneath the wool.

It's the dark green canopy of the Oregon forest,
dew glinting in the rays of sunlight through
the parting rainclouds overhead.
It's the blue depths of his eyes looking out the window
at the great grey ocean below the house on the rocks.
He gave us these colors, these trees and waters
and our eyes, the same hue as his.

The last time I saw him was in that
old house of decay and death, wherein
he sat stuck in his chair
like a lowly lord, looking lost.
He was wearing his cap for me like a crown
and I was wearing mine for him.

He looked up at me in my kilt and cap and tie
as he lifted his hand, the most he could do.
I took it and he squeezed, a handshake
more powerful than I had expected.
A simple act that mean everything,
a private salute between
warriors, the old to the young.

Thank you, Danny boy
the old Thane would have said
had he been able.

You're welcome, Grampa,
said I.

It was my final audience
with the mighty Thane.
We nodded our heads,
blue and green caps dipping
only once
and never again.

Description
My cousin gave him that nickname
at the house of our aunt and uncle
and it stuck like glue in my mind
to the image of the man with his twin
canes in his hands, the sun at his back
and a crooked smile, saying to me
"Won't you play Duncan the Brave?"
That was his favorite tune, his anthem,
and I, his herald, signal his arrival to the clan.

I saw the caps in a store in Williamsburg,
the colors of our clan caught my eye
and I knew they were meant for us.
The light blue and green dyes of the ancient
and the darker shades of the new,
one for him and one for me so I would
never forget the heritage
that binds us all together.

A woolen mesh of white and red lines lying on top
of crisscrossing bars of green and blue,
they seem strange to most people;
it's just a pretty plaid with no meaning,
so when I wear the colors they say to me
"Hey man, nice hat," and they smile and nod,
not seeing what lies beneath the wool.

It's the dark green canopy of the Oregon forest,
dew glinting in the rays of sunlight through
the parting rainclouds overhead.
It's the blue depths of his eyes looking out the window
at the great grey ocean below the house on the rocks.
He gave us these colors, these trees and waters
and our eyes, the same hue as his.

The last time I saw him was in that
old house of decay and death, wherein
he sat stuck in his chair
like a lowly lord, looking lost.
He was wearing his cap for me like a crown
and I was wearing mine for him.

He looked up at me in my kilt and cap and tie
as he lifted his hand, the most he could do.
I took it and he squeezed, a handshake
more powerful than I had expected.
A simple act that mean everything,
a private salute between
warriors, the old to the young.

Thank you, Danny boy
the old Thane would have said
had he been able.

You're welcome, Grampa,
said I.

It was my final audience
with the mighty Thane.
We nodded our heads,
blue and green caps dipping
only once
and never again.