An old warrior sits here, resting in the sun
Looking back at times forgotten by the young
Instead of your triumphant return to your home
You've another battle to fight, among your own

Had not battle turned the tide, what is it you'd have been?
Would you now stand straight and tall with pride?
But, instead, you taste the ashes of another bitter win.
And wonder to what end, your orders must abide.

Upon your homecoming, there will not be any parades,
Instead you must fight your way past these facades
Masking friend and enemy, disguising who you know
At least upon a field of battle, you knew friend from foe

You fought a war, so that you could have a voice
Yet in these matters, you have been given no choice
Never in any battle did you so much as question
Yet the loss of your rights were never mentioned

These freedoms which were so dearly bought
By sanguine coin, harvested from a macabre field
Give no cause for celebration and are worth naught
If to her surviving soldiers she does not yield

This home which you worked so hard to defend
Held no succor for you within her walls
And when it was done, betrayed you in the end
And left you with nothing, nothing at all

Before the merciless advance of time you retreat,
Knowing the task before you was left incomplete,
restore assured that your cause did not meet defeat
You've done your best, take your well deserved rest
Tis time for the young walk with your stride
To carry the banner, to bear our pride


Penned by my hand on the 25th of Scarlatan, in the year 390 AF.