The old guards are leaving their post.
They were the hope of this life
They were the salt to this bitter earth
Through the dark and covert spinning of the world
They were the carolers of light
Their trumpets forecasted the coming of each dawn
They kept the seeds of hope alive
When dust bowl cyclones dried up the soil
They kept moving on to greener pastures
Somehow, they kept their tight bellies full
The greatest generation sentinels of strength
Gladiators in wartime ambassadors of peace
With sacrifice they won the battles
Their women did not give up to despair
Their iron hands were never idle
They kept the hearth roaring
So the Home front wouldn’t fall into enemy hands
Together holding on to the dream
They weld the sword of peace their flames never
Dying underneath their marching feet.
Now their days are coming into account
The finger of night claws at them as it approaches
Chipping away at their weather beaten marble faces
With bravery they face the cold bitter wind
They know they are leaving
They don’t close their eyes gently to death
They see it clearly as it hovers like a swarm of crows
They stand at their posts fearless and at the ready
Till they can only tilt their majestic swords into the sand
Till eternity calls all sirens to sleep
Till they are little by little ash away
Till they are only footprints
Leaving a memorial to where they once stood
Till their ship of souls oars no more
As the drift and dream and sail smoothly
Onward forever from this turbulent shore.
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