The Weary Solider
Upon the ancient battlefield the weary soldier stands
bowed of head and beaten of frame.
He stands a vigil to guard what remains
His weary eyes, his timeworn face, his spirit is broken
his uniform a disgrace. Yet still he stands and never falters
this is his fate he dare not alter.
He guards the dead, protects the fallen,
his comrades are gone they are not forgotten
alone he stands and this he dreads