Fifty years hence they buried you heroes of Chosin,
As they lowered you together in the rock-laden ground-
bugles blew not a note, drums beat not a sound.
Your bodies bloodied and frozen.
...Will your children understand what for?

Every year since, your comrades still answer the call,
Guns fire once more, the bands rejoice for all to hear-
in the parades, while passing ranks of old heroes cheer.
The crippled and maimed observe from their flanks, as the
tears of the old men still fall.
...The young people ask, "What are they marching for?"

b. rine (inspired from Australian folk tune)

I was just thinking of an old freind and Dad (may he for ever rest in