Finis Coronat Opus

Young soldier, gallant, faces down, O’er broad and bloody field now sown  With comrades old and knights so true, The hordes of dark and doom. He grasps his buckler and his sword And braces ‘gainst the swelling horde Of evil blackness, seeing now Their sullen, callous brows. Alone he feels, as gazing o’er The bloodied fields of death and gore, And grief his heart does seize within And eyes well to the brim. But nay, alone he’ll never be, For on his left and right now seize  His shoulders; friends and comrades bold Are marching on; behold! Now press they on in firmest tread, Through sodden field of violent death, To gain the day ‘gainst mortal foe, Avenge their brethren’s woe.

As autumn leaves drift gently down To rest on placid lake, While cooler breezes lift the crowns Of golden trees ornate; I drift upon the water calm, Through such a vivid wood, That to my soul is blessed balm And does my heart much good. Such colors bold, reflecting clear In sparkling lake so deep, Light up my mind with mem’ries dear, Which ever I shall keep.