The March

by Jamie Walker
(St. Albans, England)

We march on the drill square all day
never knowing,that we be marching to a battlefield.

On the battlefield we stand in three ranks,
as we do on the drill square.

With the smell of smoke and the dead,
we march in range of our foe.
A volley of musket fire rips through our lines
but still we march.

With are bayonets we march through their lines,
with a cry that makes even the fearless tremble.

Click here to post comments

Join in and write your own page! It's easy to do. How? Simply click here to return to Sad Poems.



XML RSSSubscribe To This Site

follow us in feedly
Add to My Yahoo!
Add to My MSN
Subscribe with Bloglines

Search Here for Poetry

Click here if you love us! Follow Me on Pinterest