The wind was throwing dust of Fortune
into the banner up the hill,
the poppies nodded flashing, torching,
presaging time to pray and kill.
Move, walk coming down
into the glory of the morn’…
The warriors can’t look around,
they hear the calling of the Horn.
The enemy was strong and fierce,
so many friends were snatched away,
I tried to hide in songs my tears
to cheer the moans of their last day.
Move, fly floating down
into the blood pool of the fight;
the souls can hang no more around
as bodies lie in dimming light.
Then Princess Death got tired of kisses,
she smiled to me and zoomed astray;
the birds of prey could hear her hisses
as she was singing: “It’s my day!”
Move, go dancing slowly
into the clouds full of smile…
The battle sword will soon get rusty
but Love and Glory never die!