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Poetry
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| To the Unsung Heroes | |
| By Mr_E_Writer | ||||||
| 24 May 2008 | ||||||
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Akin to a river, each story has an end, and though there be two sides, the coin must still be tossed. Sometimes voices cry in the dark, and sometimes their words are lost. ... And when it was finally over they looked to the East with tear-filled eyes and cried, to a man, for those they'd lost; men, whose kind, would not grace their ranks again. Never again these warriors to wine and wench or to face the slings and arrows of gallant heroes. For beneath the frosted earth they shall remain until Father Time comes marching home in battered greaves and tattered helm to wave his banners of victory.
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