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GHOSTLY  FOOT PRINTS

Ghostly soldiers echo past
Through snow-capped mountains
They must blast,
Through uninhabitable surroundings
Enabling them to weave,
Trying not to ever leave
Evidence of them been there,
Through, rugged dangerous 
Terrain, a path,
Marching toward an enemy
Full, of long felt wrath!
Like ghosts, not a sound is heard,
A broken piece of brass
Which they just bypass,
Years later is found,
Laying half hidden in 
Snowy ground!
This medal was once worn
With  pride,
Left, trodden over, as they slide,
Down sleet and snow 5 foot deep,
To surprise, the enemy whilst
They sleep!
This battle they are ordered
To win,
Knowing that most of them
Are kin!
Surprise they did, and bravely fought
And shed much blood,
As through trenches full 
Of snow and mud,
They plodded, and crawled 
And run and killed 
And felt appalled,
As fellow soldiers and 
Kin lay sprawled,
For orders had to be obeyed,
No matter who was lost,
Or Saved.
They knew this was not right,
They had by far, the strongest might!
Today, these silhouettes go forth
With Ghost like face,
Souls sad, their march is
Now a heart sore pace,
They breeze by with an icy feel,
Rubbing shoulders with them
Feels real,
We shiver at the very thought,
That all this bloody battle brought
Was shame and guilt, at how
They’d won,
Perhaps killing their own father,
Brother or perhaps son.
You’ll sense these ghostly faces,
On a chilly snowy, icy night,
When the moon is bright,	
Leaving footprints to remind
Us all,
Never should soldiers fight
And fall,
For land, wealth or ideals,
Or for glory,
Leaving behind a sad, sad story!

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