Beneath the skies where mountains rise,
Where lochs lie still with ancient eyes,
Scotland stands with weathered grace,
A land of pride, a restless place.

The thistle grows through stone and strife,
A stubborn bloom, a pulse of life.
The lion roars in whispered song,
Of battles past, of right and wrong.

A voice once bound, now seeks to fly,
To carve its future ‘neath its sky.
No longer just a northern part,
But beating with a sovereign heart.

Holyrood speaks with careful tone,
Yet still beneath a London throne.
Voices call for what was lost,
Yet freedom bears a heavy cost.

They speak of oil, of tax and ties,
Of Europe’s door and broken lies.
Of culture kept and sold away,
Of tartan dreams and Judgment Day.

But more than votes or lines on maps,
It's heart and hope that fill the gaps.
A nation’s soul, too long dismissed,
Now rises, clenched in dewy mist.

So let the world and history see
A land that years not just to be -
But to decide, to stand, to say:
“We shape our own tomorrow’s day”

In the heart of the glen where the bagpipes call,
A legacy echoes, a resounding thrall,
The Saltire waves boldly, a banner of pride,
For freedom we yearn, with our ancestors beside.

From the mountains and lochs, their spirits arise,
With tartan blood coursing, a fire in our eyes,
No longer shall Westminster dictate our way,
For Scotland is rising, we seize the day.

With each note they play, our voices unite,
In the chill of the dawn, hearts wild with delight,
The whispers of warriors from ages before,
Guide us in battle, we’ll fight to restore.

From the whispers of history, our purpose is clear,
To claim back our homeland, resist every fear,
For those who have fallen, we honor their fight,
With the Saltire held high, we’ll strive for the right.

So let the courage be kindled, let hope light the dark,
As we march for our freedom, igniting the spark,
For in every brave heart, the spirit runs free,
A Scotland unchained, forever to be.

In the hills where the thistle’s sway,
The spirit of Scotland forever will play,
With the Saltire flying high and proud,
Beneath its embrace, we gather a crowd.

Tartan patterns weave tales of old,
Of battles fought and warriors bold,
With William Wallace, a name that inspires,
Kindling the heart of freedom’s fires.

The winds whisper stories of blood and pride,
Of those who stood tall and never would hide,
In the shadows of heather, with courage they bled,
For a land of their own, where dreams could be fed.

In valleys and glens, the echoes still call,
To rise up for justice, for one and for all,
With hearts intertwined, let our voice proclaim,
For Scotland, our home, we will honor her name.

So let the Saltire wave in the sky,
And the spirit of freedom forever soar high,
As we tread on this land, with courage anew,
To honor our past and embrace the true blue.

The classroom became our living room.
We learned together—alphabet to perseverance.
Public schools taught rules;
I taught love that bends to fit a child.