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Denis Davidson Poem
They passed your way young soldiers, their names we'll not forget.
They marched to tunes of glory, with the cadence of a vet.
While pipers played their chanters, the drones made mystic sounds.
The tune an ode to soldiers, who'd fight on foreign ground.
Their pace was slow and steady, a metronome to sound.
They marched to tunes of glory, they would die on foreign ground.
Their battle now is over, they'll hear our pipes no more.
They are marching to Valhalla, on a far and distant shore.
They'll rest there in Valhalla, where the sun will always shine.
Where the mist clings to the mountains, until the end of time.
Where pipers play their chanters, and drones make mystic sounds.
Where tunes are played for soldiers, who died on foreign ground.
Now we will all remember, when sons are sent afar.
That pipers played a last lament at Kabul, and Kandahar.
Copyright © Denis Davidson | Year Posted 2005
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