(For Scotland and her people)

“Are we there yet?”
The petulant voice,
From the back seat,
Filled with frustration.
Anxious to reach her destination.

Poor child.
It has been a long journey,
A journey of a great many years;
Filled with anger
And pent-up tears.

“Are we there yet?”
She is anxious,
Tired and excited,
All in the one moment;
Thrill mixed with discontent.

It can’t be easy,
To be such a child;
Filled with intelligence,
Subjected to years,
Of pitiful negligence,
At the hands of a cruel ward.

But the papers that keep her,
The Treaty of Union,
We all know are a dead letter.
Yet if Scotland were a child,
Her report card would read,
“Could do better
If she tried
And applied
Herself properly”

Yet how can she?
When denied
That which is essential
To achieve her full potential?

“You’re no good.”
“You’re stupid”
“You’ll never amount to anything.”
Down the years the insults ring.
And if you deride a child often enough,
They will start believing all that guff.

“Are we there yet?”
Those who love her,
Truly love her,
Will teach her to ignore,
All that which has been said;
The derision and the letters dead.
And finally give her the chance,
To reach her goals and advance
To a brighter future.

“Are we there yet?”
“Not long now Sweetheart,
Forget all your worry and care.
We’re on our way and almost there.
Keep your eyes on the road
And hold on tight;
Journey’s end is at last in sight.”