The Soldier's Rune


Hail! Ye men born to the black soil,
Birthed to the red earth, where honor's toil.
Sinews clad with might, hearts tough as stone,
Forged in the fire of battle, forever known.


When our roars echoed across the mounts and ravines,
And our whisper in every ear, a soothing shrine.
Through trials and strife, we walk, unyielding and proud,
Embracing stones as pillows, caves as palaces avowed.


Fraught on our way is fear, but we won't tear,
Unbroken, we march on, hearts unshaken, souls aflame.
Yet undaunted, like a hound, we move,
Through darkness and despair, our spirit improves.


Would ye quit when death comes calling?
Will ye drop thy sword for thy enemy's threatening?
Nay, but from the ashes, as Phoenix, we rise,
Reborn, renewed, our hearts, our souls, our prize.


With mud and blood, we smear our tongue,
Our battle cry, our anthem, sung.
For that ye are, forever true,
Sons of the black soil, born anew.

ElPraise









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