Fiddler’s Green

                           

               

“The First Team”

 

Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead Troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers’ Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers’ Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No Trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he’s emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers’ Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers’ Green.

********************

The Boys are not lost.  They've gone to muster at Fiddler's Green, but they are not lost.  They are with us now, in our hearts, in our memories, in our stories, traditions, and still live on, in the lives they saved, and the lives they gave, with us. 

We'll see them all again, when the last 'Assembly' sounds; ringing notes echoing off the mountain they built; see them, in soldierly array, standing proud. 

~~4Branch