Days Of The Past Poem by leinad yancm

The land is baron cold and vile,
but there are things we know all the while,
those things are meories to hold,
glory more precious than gold,
alas one thing we all must learn,
honour is what we must earn,

The year 1812 when it occured,
when the war of greed was suddenly spurred,
Madison's desire,
to extend his orders higher,
i faked my disguist,
to those i most trust,
1781 they beat us there,
this was a chance to make it fair,

Of that time what i miss most,
comrades each man pre and post,
the tunes we marched to made me smile,
though marching to death all the while,
knowing justice would be done,
that was always half the fun,
red and blue fought in a war,
defined by the colour coat you wore,

Yes i fought many a battle,
men crammed up like cattle,
fire reload fire reload,
these the orders we were told,
72 men i did kill,
Always fills me with a chill,
Not just 72 men dead,
but hundreds of family members tears shed,

Yes in the end we won,
and it wasn't barely done,
the Yankees they fell before ouy eyes,
our men full of cheerful cries,
but why did these men all of British link,
become determined just to sink?

Now we go to fight France,
Now we go to Europe's dance,
We most civilised nations of the earth,
we are to thank for the modern world's birth.