In A Strive

Soldiers of misfortune..
Do shed no tears..
On this  here battle field..
Do not give out your last words..
And say this is from a dying man..


A rusted sword, is still with name...
A rolling stone they say gathers pace..
An injured beast, is best with vim..
And a hen with strength,..
Is when she is mothering..


Trenches are dug..
For the knees to crawl in..
Knees do bend to be crawled with..
While sweat glance open..
To let out steam, in bubbling bust..


The battle is fought..
With all that and bear hands..
Do not give out your last words..
And say, this is from a dying man..


Oh child of man, and of womb..
For with  your courage, last breath
Last step, last gasp..
Fortune winds changes to blow west..