Our Warrior’s Last Vigil

by: E.M. Burlingame

Upon the eve of morrow’s battle dawn,
We warriors with visage stern prepare,
Doubts like shadows, our minds filled,
Each fate in balance, at daylight to learn.

No haven lies beyond this here night,
So many foes advancing, unchecked,
Leaving no shelter from soon coming ill,
They a tide of darkness, deeper than night.

For all we cherish, all we know and care,
The golden fields, the streets of home,
We each adjust armour, weapons check,
For the morn we take a stand, a chance.

In ancient dusty tomes, the stories tell,
Of clashes where oh so many valiant fell,
Yet none these tales, so filled with loss,
As that which lies but hours before us.

And in that fray, soon, not all shall stand,
When light reveals upon a bloodied land,
Yet those of us who fall, shall live in fame,
A life given, lives taken, that others thrive.

But for now, ere the sun begins its flight,
We fill this glade, calm, serene and still,
Gathering strength for the battle coming,
Steeling warm warrior hearts, honing wills.

For though the break of dawn brings despair,
Though the cost will be beyond reckoning,
We’ll rise as one, at crest, our spirits high,
To live and die, not for glory, but for love.