Short in stature,
long in fight,
the zealot stood his ground

The odds unfavored,
no end in sight,
victory still unfound

The daylight haunting,
the body count,
the field a sea of blood

A bugle blowing
for one last charge,
advancing through the mud

With force depleted
but spirit whole,
his voice heard far and wide…

“Into the jaws
of certain death
—for glory now we ride”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2020)