On embattled ground that thirsts bloodshed
            Do rise the cries for ordered guns,
            Which volleys break the stems of men
            Who fall as fodder with the setting sun
            The smoke that ploughs through barreled rows,
            Released from sparks that flint incurs,
            The field now masked ‘til wind bears breath
            To reveal the life of the flying Colours
            A Battalion’s corps is made of men,
            But it’s soul is weaved in cloth embossed,
            Embroidered details marks it’s history rich
            So memories of Brave and Fallen are never lost
            From Caesar’s time with standards forged in bronze,
            To crusades when damask was blessed,
            These banners served as battle cries
            And for no enemy’s hand should it possess
            The Colours marked the commander’s lead,
            A point of rally on the field of war,
            The bearer, a target, a sight well seen
            If felled, ‘tis quest that it’s flight restored
            For Cavalry, the Guidon is their distinguishing mark,
            A heraldic banner carried most stoic,
            Honours emblazoned, flown high above heads,
            Leading the saddled to battle most heroic
            For artillery, ‘tis the gun that imposes such cause
            Manned by ranks both stripe and chevron,
            Under fire, they serve with fortitude’s vow
            So to death they will never abandon
            For each Regiment, the Colours do serve them well,
            An emblem of tradition it does inspire,
            In ceremony, the old is laid up to rest,
            And in peace, to time they retire
            With drummed respect and under guard escort,
            A salute to honour what in field was attained,
            Now folded and worn and encased by heart
            Beats the Colours pulse that will forever remain

            Aug 29, 2012
            Silvia Pecota