The Lovely Oddness of Pushing a Bed, a Model T, and a Piano Up Ben Nevis

Above the minion hills of Caledonia,
Crowned by fog and robed by dewy dew,
Sits a green-brown king that's waiting for ya,
Benevolent wet welcoming for the few.

And there were a few who, to pay tribute to,
And place some jewels in the crown of the king,
Held fast his soil, scaled through the robe of dew,
To adorn upon his head peculiar things.

Some creative set set forth on steep ascent 
Up the Caledonian hill where it's said
They planned hard all the way as they went.
This plan, understand, it included a bed

Pulled through robed dew and thick whiskey peat.
And as whiskey'ed dreams cause one to snore aloud,
They probably did between soggy sheets,
Surrounded by a webby web of clouds. 

Yet others, it's said again, as if to top these,
Sought to push a Model T up the kings side,
Thick coats of dew and peat under old wheels,
Arguably a most unusual drive

That demanded sheer and original will.
For to haul up a combustioning engine
Over such steeply steep and stormy hills
Begs: Did they merely drive it down again?

Once more at the top of his peated plaid pate,
Again at the apex of such kingly ground,
Was seen a piano as if found by fate,
A heap of a thing mysteriously bound

And buried within. One wants to imagine,
When once in a piece, they played what all crave;
Rousing renditions heard from the glens,
And cities, and towns, of Scotland the Brave!

You! All of you showed strange reverence
Celebrated in unusual ways:
Things scaled in a country, a proud land whence
Greatness is expressed best in peculiar praise.

So, my madly mad ole Scottish brethren,
Who let your irreverent flags unfurl!
I dream those whiskey'ed dreams of when
You let them wave atop that green-brown world!