The clock struck twelve, and full of dread,
The morbid thoughts within his head
Screamed, “very soon I will be dead.”
But the screaming stopped, the wind died down
And upon the room there was no sound.
And in the darkness, a figure stepped into the light.

The reaper came and took his hand
To carry him away from this earthly land.
Then he spoke, his words a knife,
“It is time for me to end your life.”

“But Death, as a friend I hold you dear.
For now, this late, I have no fear.
My life is lived, my love is spent,
I have not left a single cent.
My days are up and I am fine
With my totally trivial temporary time.”

So Death declared, his eyes afire,
“I do not think you are a liar.
Your life was full, your life was long.
Now with me you must come along.”

And they joined hands in the dark room,
the hands of Death, Life, the world, and the tomb.

Tall, strong and silent I stand,
Holding my arms to the sky and in my hands
Million fingers hold tiny banners
Flowing with the grace and majesty that
Only can befall my peers.

And though I stand, proud of my self
My brothers and my sisters fall.
Though once we were
A steadfast army of peace,
Rank and file falls,
Casualties of this war.

As a soldier my feet have been
In place while around me a city rose
And my armor remains
Even as my banners are stripped
From me every year the war endures
Until I myself fall to become
The funeral pyre of another soldier.