The Battalion
One dark morning many years ago,
A Battalion of soldiers stood in their rows.
Off to war were they sent,
To a strange exotic land they went.
Random and brutal were their fights,
Raging on for countless nights,
The end of them was not in sight;
Yet the Battalion marched on.
The cold winds of winter blew to and fro,
Whipping the Battalion with hardened snow.
From fatigue they suffered, and low morale;
Yet the Battalion marched on.
Half the Battalion was lost,
By the land's ghastly frost.
Retreated did they to the south,
Fearing the impending bout.
Yet the Battalion marched on.
Clean were their muskets,
And clean were their blades,
The ice now gone from their horses manes.
They met the enemy after many days,
And dug in did they at the Devil's Maze.
For days they sat, awaiting their fate,
Gathering courage during the wait.
"Ready your guns!" Did the Captain finally cry,
"No longer shall we sit by and by!"
Aiming from the trench's edge,
Shots rang down upon the Battalion's heads.
"Fire!" The Captain soon declared,
And from the trenches men fired if they dared.
Many fell and many died,
All before the Captain's eyes.
Mourn did he, but did not cry;
For it was the Battalions job to stand or die.
"Forward charge!" The Captain yelled,
Of black powder the air smelled.
Forward did the Battalion charge,
Straight into Death's Arms.
Of the Battalion not one survived,
Not even the Captain cried;
Even as bullets pierced his chest,
Even as he began his final rest.
For he knew that though they had lost the fight,
What the Battalion done was right.
They laid down their own lives,
To ensure that others did survive.
Died did they for their people,
To ensure they would not fall victim to this evil.
Though the Battalion had no victory,
They would be heroes in the eyes of history.
