poems

Our battle lost
We trudge home on weary feet / But we flee on weary feet
Foot over foot
Echoes down the tunnel
Groans of the dead

Retreating home
I count the heads / Ready, I count the heads
One, two, three
There is one missing
It is yours

I should not be surprised
Ugly truth stares at me, plain

Only I must carry out my duty -
As you know I always have / This, you've always known to be true
You always said such glowing words
How I was selfless

Night falls
My reward is cold
Your warmth is elsewhere
O, Noble Lord

Do I hide your name?