On That Day

The wind it whispered in my ear

I heard the sounds of Battle’s cry

Spectral voices cry in fear

Upon this ground so many died.

The gentle hiss of lapping waves

The scream of an incoming round

That sent a young man to his grave.

So many lying in the ground.

Within my mind the bloody sand

Is spread before me all around

They fought and died across the land.

All that’s left is a funeral mound.

They were marching to a victory song

Singing loud that freedom tune

The fight was hard the dying long

Those Warriors of the sixth of June.

I turned and slowly walked away

Walking blind, tears fill my eyes

Remembering those that died that day

Yet still I hear those spectral sighs.

Robin A Spicer

 © June 6, 2005