What will you think of me when I have gone
To windswept shore or yet proud rising land,
Off to those dreams that I fed soul upon,
My rod and reel or rifle in my hand;
Beyond the sad corruption of the day
Or yet the daunting fears of sullied night,
To timeless hope where way leads to blessed way,
Pastoral scenes to ever grace my sight.
Will you remember then all battles fought,
Great wars fair won, and those lost in despair
Where win or lose, was victory ever sought—
My glory and defeat in measured share;
And when they play for me the final fife,
Recall from every score, I bled pure life.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.