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Rated: E · Fiction · Career · #2314468
Sad memories of our fallen battalion and friends
When our victory arrives,
we know not to smile or hear it’s all cries,
for all every battalion that falls and dies
bullets flowing in the breeze,
like the west wind blows dry leaves.

We missed home pastime romp,
longing for day to go back home,
thousand left but few remain,
Sojourn man-at-arms at the front lane.
Wistful memories we but all evoke,
Danger lines abound on war front,
those are sad tale we can recount.

Brothers dead in war,
we can't save who we love,
no, not even one.
When the food we fed on
was to keep muscle and hide sturdy
not drawing a bob of pleasance, gaiety.
When all mind could bring or sway
was reminisce of a good old day,

~which who we lost on the way.~
When the casualty open mouth
to utter statement,
But mute and couldn't rant.

When our enmity back from home,
became cordial on the surface.
When all our malice back from home,
concede to brotherhood.

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