Warrior-Poets Poem by Leland D'Elormie

How we have fought together,
How glorious our crusade,
The line broke all around us,
But we were not afraid.

We wore our iron helmets,
And also paper crowns,
And sporting chains of daisies,
We startled all the towns.

Their people dull and dreary,
So often called us strange,
But see, we were the sane ones,
Our critics were deranged.

For us it was the small things,
Like standing on your head,
And flying into battle,
And honoring the dead.

The world rushed out for power,
For money and for fame,
We rushed to save our citadel,
And 'Playland' was its name.

Forget those boring pastimes,
Of gathering wealth and slaves,
Give us our robes and armor,
Or else give us our graves.

We did not hail New Amsterdam,
As did the rest of them,
Instead we raised the banner,
For little Bethlehem.

Their horoscopes advised them,
To bolster up their pride,
Our portents led to stables,
Our own savior slept inside.

And though they mocked us roundly,
We staunchly held our place,
For nothing more than our sweet chance,
To touch his tender face.

Warriors are useless,
If they can't be poets too,
But we were warrior-poets,
The only ones we knew.