We once fought for

these green, rolling hills

that wind their way, idly

to the shore.

Where the waves break,

and all of our fears with them.

 

We spilled blood

upon this treasured ground.

Fired our guns,

bared our swords

and charged.

Many men would shed

all that they were

to save another inch

of grass and moss.

 

We held the line,

even when

the bastards gained a hill,

we pushed them back,

back into the sea.

We let the crashing waves

and grey haze take them,

until the foam upon the beaches

was red for miles.

 

All these lives we gave

for this green forest.

For that tree,

for that rock,

for that flower.

 

A child’s eye,

that first glimpses the light

that shines upon this land

will know no other.

And the aging Matron,

whose hands spin finery

from the loins of this place,

might rest here

for her eternity.

 

We must fight

to keep what is ours,

for the world is heartless,

cruel and ever wanton.

Casting about tragedy

and suffering

with the same indifference

as the sea

and the sky above.

 

So I take a drink,

in the memory of brave men,

who blood is now this land’s

as much as ours.

May we continue to fight

and be worthy

of the sacrifice

that made this “Home”.

 

HG – 2019