As the leaves reappear one after the other
And the sky resonates with loud motors no longer,
Rather the melody of the feathery comets,
The timelessly rushed city does not comment.

It does not look up or stop the watch,
But carries on the proud march,
Out of breath, never in one place,
The race dictates the pace,
For the pride of glorious success,
Or to avoid the darkness of loneliness.  

You don’t even smile anymore, no pretending,
But when last did you last looks past
Your own existence. Nature and harmony,
Only a distant memory, is this how it was meant to be?

They stand in rows, straight and proud,
The minute before all gets loud,
The silence slithers between the guns,
The cold crisp air filling their lungs.

The plain is vast, yet filled with life,
A last thought goes out to every wife,
Before the dark spirit looms over the battlefield,
The light in their hearts builds up every shield.

The thousand eyes light up in the shadows,
Forgetting their homes and their soon - to - be widows,
The somber faces glare at the distance, frontal
Like the panther above the gloomy jungle.

The unity of their brothers binds them,
But who will still be besides them,
After the bloods shed, and the courage deserted,
The dewy grass trampled, and corpses incinerated.

There is no thought, there is no time,
Only the wait, and the brave front line,
The flag raised high, the heart beats in synchrony,
Bringing the rhythm of death’s melody.