Onward rides the soldier
Young and brave
Swiftly to battle
Eager to save
“Why,” whispers the wind, “Do you ride
so hard?”
“For my love” cries the boy,
“So she may not suffer.”
“Whist, whist” says the wind.
“And when you lie cold
On the blood-wet ground,
While scarlet banners dance
And bugles scream with sound,
Then
Will she not suffer?”
Onward he marches
Towards glory and fame,
To fight for his people,
To honor his name.
“Why,” asks the wind,
“Do you march so far?”
“For my dear mother, so she
May be proud.”
“Whist, whist” says the wind.
“And when you fall boldly
Among the best,
While gallant bullets rip
And the amber flame dies
To the West,
Then
Will she be proud?”
Photo and words, Copyright (C) 1983, Robin Kurtz
Originally published in "Introspects"
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