Posted by NBabe on January 04, 1999 at 21:16:59:
~ When both the armies have withdrawn ~
~ And day gives way to darkness deep, ~
~ The soldiers sit around the fire ~
~ To talk awhile before they sleep. ~
~ They hone their swords, and clean their spears, ~
~ And speak of those they've lost this day -- ~
~ When suddenly, to their surprise, ~
~ One of that number comes their way. ~
~ A vet'ran of a dozen wars; ~
~ Unnumbered struggles he has seen. ~
~ His face is marked with age and scars, ~
~ Yet still his frame is hard and lean. ~
~ His naked sword he clutches still ~
~ As through the group he makes his way; ~
~ His shield held close against his chest ~
~ As if to keep the world at bay. ~
~ With admiration and relief, ~
~ The younger warriors greet the man; ~
~ Says one, "Come sit and drink a cup, ~
~ And tell us of tomorrow's plan." ~
~ The older soldier slowly sits ~
~ And lays his bloodstained sword nearby; ~
~ And then, as if his last 'twill be, ~
~ He takes the ale and drains it dry. ~
~ He props himself against a tree; ~
~ Anon, they hear him softly say, ~
~ "I'll leave the plans to those who fight -- ~
~ For I'll not be amidst the fray." ~
~ The warriors all leap to their feet, ~
~ And plead as one, "Pray, say not so! ~
~ For thou art yet the best of us, ~
~ With skills to vanquish any foe. ~
~ "We'll skyward thrust our trusty blades, ~
~ And swear no battle to concede; ~
~ We'll gladly follow anywhere, ~
~ As long as thou art here to lead!" ~
~ The vet'ran slowly shakes his head ~
~ And answers with a weary smile, ~
~ "My final battle I have fought; ~
~ 'Tis time for me to rest a while." ~
~ His left arm, listless, falls aside ~
~ And takes with it his battered shield -- ~
~ A viscid, spreading crimson stain ~
~ Across his breast thereby revealed. ~
~ A mortal wound, none there can doubt; ~
~ They marvel at the strength of will ~
~ That brought him back amongst his men ~
~ Before his cup of life does spill. ~
~ He finds his voice again, once more, ~
~ As tears around him freely flow: ~
~ "My friends, pray, hearken unto me, ~
~ And take my rede before I go. ~
~ "Now look ye to the battleground -- ~
~ Who stands upon that bloody field? ~
~ Not Us, nor They, but Mother Night, ~
~ To whom at last we all must yield. ~
~ "For life is brief, and duty hard; ~
~ The reasons are not ours to know -- ~
~ But swing your swords for kin and king, ~
~ 'Til Fate's own blade has laid ye low." ~
~ He looks upon each man in turn, ~
~ And gives a nod, but says no more. ~
~ They'll do their best, he thinks with pride, ~
~ And, gods be willing, win their war. ~
~ He sinks down to the beaten earth; ~
~ Resignedly he shuts his eyes -- ~
~ And thus, his sword still at his side, ~
~ Another simple soldier dies. ~