A battlefield�laden full, with bodies, stiff and dead
One man stands against the scene, straight, but with bent head
He looks out and sees the faces of so many he once knew
The broken and the scattered limbs; the unlucky living few
Some cry in pain, some say a prayer, others bless with a last breath
The land they fought for�that their kin �d be free�even with their death
The tattered colors still bear strong, against a smoke-filled sky
And a weary ancient mourns his loss with one last heaving sigh