St. Chrispin's Jewels Poem by William Coyne

After parades on their St. Crispin's Day,
were these such men remembered by many,
or were they long forgotten as so much
confetti littering streets of London,

or Paris, or any town or city,
where they returned, grew old and fat and died,
told brave heroic stories to their children,
as they lay bored, yawning by their side,

no longer entertained by these tellings
of gallantry, sacrifice, honor, pride,
preferring to play outside with young friends?
Many have forgotten, many more shall,

but the few, those precious few, remember
from age to age, and look far back in time,
hold their lives not so cheaply, but fight
adversity to secure liberty,

and live to tell fine, fine stories once more.