Tales of a Poor Poge by Richard Palmer - HTML preview

LEGACY

The river of time runs red
With the blood of men.
Brave men, of all age and ages,
Sacrificed on forgotten battlefields.
Weak or strong, still they died,
Alone and often in vain, with no one

To mourn their brutal passing.
We hear their cries riding the winds

Though few remember their tortured deaths.

These bloody cries must never die.
They must cry eternal in our memory.