The Last Fusilier ©
The withered leaves
And setting Sun,
Did illuminate the path
Of this fortunate one.
His legs he heaves
Ever forward ‘til his trek is done.
A soldier’s heart he does possess
So he marches on ‘til he achieves
His final last Quest.
Onward he marches
With Colors in hand,
To return them
Back to his beloved land.
Only he will ever know
What it cost to bring them Home.
Alone he may be, yet guiding him
Still you will see is the Memory.
He treads on for those who could not come.
None more walk his road
And none ever will
For he is ,
The Last Fusilier.