Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand
With heads bowed over this hallowed land
Tall, gaunt, giant spirits stand
Remembering cannon and marching band.
"We waited till the enemy closed,
Then we fired, they were disposed
That was the tact at Bunker Hill
I remember the screaming horses still
A graveyard now of unconquered will"
"We had dug deep protective trenches,
The enemy in our sights, only inches.
Then the smell of new mown hay
And the deadly smell of mustard spray
They carried so many of us away"
"When moving through the jungle vines
Watch every step for hidden mines
When each step may be your last
Now tangled memories of the past,
Solemn flags flown half-mast"
Hear these stories the veterans tell
Of midnight fires and smoky hell
Their common cry is "No defeat"
But with apathy they can't compete
History of actions incomplete
The veteran spirits gather here
To whisper of war and yesteryear
This is where their spirits stand
Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.
Poetry by Sean Mc Kelvy
All rights reserved under copyright laws
In Flanders fields the poppies blow