The restless night is waning,
camp site fires grow dim.
Morning light approaches,
with it's glow on eastern rim.
The bugle soon will sound the call
for all to rise and dress.
They'll stumble o're,
the earthen floor,
as they file for morning mess.
And as they rise
grim thoughts return,
that to themselves they kept.
That were pushed aside
by tranquil dreams,
and vanished while they slept.
Now dressed and fed,
this vast ar-med,
all muster at the call.
With daggers stoned,
and sabers honed,
are lined up straight and tall.
As names are called,
each hears his own,
and wonders if this day.
Will be the last it's ever spoke
save by loved ones far away.
Now solemn led by drums and pipes,
the columns start their flow.
They palisade o'er fields and grade,
for confront with the foe.
To the battle field that lie ahead,
a tranquil meadow rimmed by hills.
All silent now but for trills of larks,
among the daffodils.
Now columns move by harsh commands,
as death with every moment nears.
The new seek old for wisdoms words,
and to hide their doubts and fears.
And in this time, behind the line,
the gallant Generals wait.
With plans appraised, and sabers raised,
to send men to their fate.
The sunlight's glint on sabers drawn,
is like a precious pause in time.
Then cannons roar, as time waits no more ,
to build this mortal shrine.
Now mortars flash,
and sabers clash,
as flag bearers lead the fray.
As front lines fall
rise human walls,
of dead in blue and grey.
The air is filled with musket balls,
with the fearful sound they made.
As they found their mark, and stilled a heart,
and a dreadful price was paid.
The terror that they sorely felt,
rushing blindly into war.
Is only known by those brave souls,
that fortune chose not to ignore.
The scent of death, the blinding fear,
the hate when comrades fall.
What prize on earth is worth the cost,
than a purpose greater than us all.
Now this scene of dread, with blood and dead,
is still as cannons cease.
The smoke drifts off and birds
return to nestle in the trees.
Men will praise, in latter days,
the brave who gave their lives.
With a baneful yell, charged into hell,
to their final sacrifice. |
