he tea on the table,
And the smiles all around,
Steam quietly mixed with
The wonderful sweet sound;
The drones played out the past,
Chords kept minds on changes,
Flying fingers flapped
Revealing sorrow's ranges.
Their pipes down for luncheon,
But music still on air,
We ate cake and legend,
The joy of the píobaire;
The pipes breathed once again,
The chanter's charm was cast,
Smiling sorrow swelled
Filling us to the last.
The pipes rested in case,
And we set out for home,
But the music lingered--
The melody and drone;
These pipes we'll hear again,
When old friends we will meet,
Peeling pipes pounding
And with smiles in the street.
he tea on the table, 
