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C J Baxter Sep 2014
Stealing defeat from the jaws of Victory.
A feat that was tall, fought for then slipped away.
The Scottish way it seems, to let it disappear.
To come so close with hands open as we near
then through our fingers we let slip another year.

Disappointed and down, we maintained a disjointed crown.
We could have swam for freedom but in the open water we drowned.
The lochs turned to black, no clock can turn back:
Freedom was for the taking, but under the pressure we cracked.  

Scaremongering, propaganda. Down right lies.
The told the feeble to stay together, and there would be a prize.
Hungering for a land. A place to call home.
They listened. Now no longer can they roam

Or swim in open waters that are their very own.
They are bound by unity yet completely alone.  

So from a foreign land I think back to the time.
when I felt a part of it. In land that was mine.
But no desire to return. The lesson I learned:
Fire always burns out. We had heart but no spine.
As a Scotsman I felt I had to write about the referendum

— The End —