As the rain it fell,
they stood in silent sentinel,
the youth whose life barely fills a page,
for those alas who will never age,
most gave their life on foreign soil,
where the cedar bleeds or hewn in Katangian dust.
One fell at Derrada Wood & earned his star,
one lost far out on the unforgiving sea,
borne away on Scuabtuinne,
another in distant hills of Fataurlo,
more lost in flight on that darkest night,
one more rolled in Bantry waves, seven lives for to save.
The eternal flame,
the unknown dreams,
the bronze busts and limp half mast flag,
the sympathy & sighs from those who linger and remain,
to keep a fleeting vigil as heroes sleep.
Pause for a second,
wet your eye,
think of those who lie,
where and whence they died,
did they breath with that last gasp,
wives, sons, mothers or their daughters name?
Families baring such pain,
aching loss as gun carriage rattles past,
the click of leather heel and clink of brass,
mournful last post bugle call,
rifles bark the final retort,
shock & quiver the teardrops fall,
and all is quiet,
and all is still,
as the rain falls.