Through the roiled dirt I trudge,
Bearing life, bearing hope,
For weary souls brought down in vain,
Their time ahead both cruel and tainted.

Through the marshy swamps I wade,
Exhaustion etched heavy upon my face,
Searching for souls, for men of Grace,
To grant respite, some well-earned rest.

Alas, they cry, for mother, for wife,
For sweet child, back home, sleeping tight,
As to life they cling, with mine arms as their own,
To die another day, with me by their side.