Tramp, tramp, tramp. We watch them going
and throughout time hear their voices flowing.
See the phantom footprints through the mist.
Remember those who are so dearly missed.
We follow their footprints through war torn times
midst the muddy trenches in foreign climes.
Amongst toil and danger as they walk on,
through hail of bullets and the blast of bomb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem