his tongue thirst clave to his mouth
his weary limbs battle-ached
the battle went on pitched with death-wails
oh the failed souls
even the victorious could not but pity them
for they would not up-give their own life for the shame of being missed

bullets and bayonets
flying and flashing
breaking and cracking
streamers of red-cries
survivor-gasping with relief
that it was not them

dumb-luck they knew
skill-perhaps they doubted
but there was no anthem
that parted the stench
of the dead

home they wished for
and some returned unboxed
some with king's gold upon their chests...