From private soldier every part I played,
Until my sword directed a brigade.
I wore, the night before I started west,
Four medal decorations on my breast.
The war progressed, for time rolls on the same
In peace or war, and sixty-three became
A chapter in the annals of the past.
When sixty-four was ushered in at last,
To write in characters of blood and fire
Its page of human immolation, dire,