Ed Smoak, Piper

A Penny for the Piper, by William E. Smoak

Out of the mist of the morning dew I walk to the brow of a hill.

There to play that age-old tune that Pipers know so well.

What think those gathered who have called me here time and time again,

To play the tune Amazing Grace for their beloved friend.

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They do not know and cannot see just how this tune has affected me,

As from my misty perch I play, to send their loved one home today.

Each time I play I feel the loss for those who have gone before,

All my friends and loved ones too, who have knocked on heaven’s door.

I play for them each time as well, and my heart is truly sad

For I relive each time I play the losses I have had.

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I've piped in many places and history knows me well.

You've heard my pipes in battle as my comrades bravely fell.

I've welcomed home the Heroes and felt the widow's cry,

Then played the tune Amazing Grace as they say their last goodbye.

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I've played for the unknown soldiers, who no one knew their name,

To me each one a hero, whose life was not in vain.

They paid the price of freedom and did not fear to die,

So as I play I must be strong for the Piper cannot cry.

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I know the price they paid, I know it all too well,

Each time I play Amazing Grace, I remember those who fell.

Those who died to keep us free who never will return,

The many flag draped coffins, the small and precious urns.

I played the day the towers fell, and a country stopped to cry,

Then played for every victim, as our Nation said goodbye.

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I feel the power of the tune as it tugs upon my heart,

And struggle for each note I play as I do my solemn part.

You might feel that I'd grow strong and weathered to the task,

But no one even thinks of me, as I play each time I'm asked.

I play my tune then fade away, in the mist of the morning dew

And take with me the pain I found as I played my pipes for you.

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So next time when you hear that tune and you see me walk away,

Please know my heart was breaking while I played for you today.

And for all this I ask not much, a penny is my due.

I'll keep it safe with all the rest, till my days on earth are through.

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And on the day God calls me, I pray my soul he'll save,

Take all but one last penny, and buy some flowers for my grave.

Place them not upon my stone, but on the brow of the misty hill,

In honor of the piper, who plays his pipes so well.

Then he will know I understand the sacrifice he made,

And that I have felt the same as he each time that I had played.

Then take the final penny, hold it tight and don't let go,

You must give it to the piper,

It's the penny that I owe.

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© 2004 William E. Smoak