SO (USA / )

From Three Battles

Oh gay were we in spirit
In the hours of the night
When we lay at rest at Albert
And waited for the fight;
Gay and gallant were we
On the day that we set forth,
But broken, broken, broken
Is the valour of the North.

The wild warpipes were calling,
Our hearts were blithe and free
When we went up the valley
To the death we could not see.
Clear lay the wood before us
In the clear summer weather,
But broken, broken, broken
Are the sons of the heather.

In the cold of the morning,
In the burning of the day,
The thin lines stumbled forward,
The dead and dying lay.
By the unseen death that caught us
By the bullets' raging hail
Broken, broken, broken
Is the pride of the Gael.

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Comments (4)

Thank you janice. You are a blessed wonderful person. Children are so precious. I do not have any, nor have I fostered any. But I am sure they loved you and you loved them more than any items lost. As I often say about my animals, who destroy everything: My couch doesn't jump up and love me when I come home. Thank you for sharing this. Bless you.
I like you poem very much. I have a comment however. I have been doing foster care most of my life. I have had the consol kicked out of my car, holes in the walls, precious ornaments smashed, had to sell my home because neighbours complained. So much stress along with writing flat out for years. But still I continue and refuse to give up, for each child who passes across my door, there is a small way that I can help. Thats showing love and security. Some don't want it others do. But at least some are saved.
You read my mind, Sandra...I have a published poem about children...beautiful, just beautiful Theodora Onken
Excellent Sandra and so timely. And we must ask ourselves, who does care? And who has sold them out. H