Our Brotherhood,
Death tried to break,
The horrors, the loses were hard to take.
To have, to love, and then to part,
Is the greatest sorrow of one's heart.
We stood are ground though broken and sore.
We kept on fighting till we won the war.
The years may wipe out many things,
But our soldiers pushed on and the birds still sing.
Like memories of those men long ago,
Here we still stand and never let go.
Hldr. Gonçalves
842
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem