The sound of bugles dins so loud at last,
The cavalry must be approaching near,
Thank God that here, no more do cannons blast,
When seen from yonder banks as smoke would clear;
And not a stir from all the dead around,
My friends and foes, that lay all splayed and still,
Had I not fled this fateful battleground,
My guts would also scatter on the fill;
But then, to glory where the others died,
This flag would be defiled held by my hand,
False History might have me glorified,
As lone surviving hero of my band;
......Before greatness would soon to me extend,
......I have to leave, deserter till the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem