William Wallace

In Scotia's realm, where ancient mountains pierce the sky, A hero was born, beneath a canopy of grey, watchful eyes. William Wallace, a name whispered with reverence and pride, For freedom's sacred cause, his very destiny he defied. From Lanark's vale, where injustice cast a heavy chain, He rose as one, to break the yoke and end the endless pain.

From Stirling's narrow bridge, where cunning turned the tide, To Falkirk's open fields, where Scottish blood freely cried, He led his loyal men, with a burning fire in his soul, Against the English foe, striving to make Scotland whole. The English felt the fury of his righteous hand, A lion's roar echoing loud, throughout the Scottish land.

Braveheart's defiant cry, a nation's awakening call, Against the English tyrant, stand united, never to fall. For Scotland's inherent right, he drew his ancestral sword, Wallace, the noble champion, by all the Scots adored.

Betrayed by those he trusted, bound in chains of cruel deceit, His spirit unbroken, soared high, a victory bittersweet. A martyr's tragic death, for the sake of liberty's flame, He sowed the seeds of rebellion, forever etching his name. Though his heart ceased to beat, his legend took flight, Inspiring future generations, to fight for what is right.

So hail the brave, who fought, and ultimately bled, William Wallace, the hero, though gone, he's never truly dead. His timeless legacy lives on, in every mountain glen. The thistle blooms in remembrance, of the price that was paid, Wallace, the guardian of Scotland, his spirit unafraid.