Marching With Ghosts

Marching, marching, the living and the dead

Arm in arm down cobbles boot-worn smooth

From services of sombre remembrance

To memorials of bronze and emblazoned marble.

The pipes, the pipes and all the fallen pipers

Lead as men once did to battle and to war.

Then home again to cheers and speeches

Ringing hollow, echoing cries

From battlefields consecrated with the blood

Leading ghost battalions that are no more

Of fallen comrades, now no more than ghosts.

Marching once more together in memory,

Past faces bright with innocence

That cannot know the horror, that utter grief.

They parade with their ghostly companions

Of those days when they were young and bright

Now old and withered with those at their side

Who cannot fade with time.

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