Silence reigns upon the fields,
No more the clashing of steel on steel.
No more the clash of Man and Elf,
No more the hate of them and self.
Only the restless screams of the dying.

Listen now to the hush of the sun that's falling,
Hear now the wail of the Banshee's calling,
Forgiveness lays within the soil,
Wet with the blood of those who toil,
and still none to care for the dying.

So, Hush now soldier, dry your tears,
and know that come a thousand years,
bards shall sing the story of our days,
a song of the glory and honour of our ways,
and nae a word of the ones still dying.

Hush now soldier, the end is near,
Death shall claim you, have no fear.
Empires rise as sure as the fall,
And we must answer the warrior's call,
and so we shall lay dying.

Watch as the sun's last glimmer dies,
Reflecting the death found in your eyes.
Watch as darkness claims the sky,
And in the shadows which we lye.
No more sound of the dying.

The ravens fly to pluck their feast,
The bones of death to feed the beast.
Each dead soldier with armour proud,
Swarms of flies in one dark cloud,
who to respect the dying?

© 1998 By Dave Anhorn
Poetry