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