We walk to the front lines
trying to bypass our enemies.
Take my hand,
my shield.
We are not going to die,
not on this night.
March on my brothers,
carry on my sisters.
We are victors,
soldiers,
throw out your fear.
Hold your helmet high,
this night we fight.
Allow the tears to run,
for our lost brothers in arm.
The beginning is here, my friend,
take your sword,
you shield,
and meet me on the battlefield.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem