They pass us by Old Soldiers, their names we soon forget.
They marched to tunes of glory, with the cadence of a Vet.
While pipers played their chanters, and drones made mystic sounds,
The tunes were played for soldiers, who'd fight on foreign ground.
Their pace now slow and steady, a metronome to sound.
The tune an ode to soldiers, who'd die on foreign ground.
Their battle now is over, they'll hear our pipes no more.
They're marching to Valhalla, on a far and distant shore.
They'll rest there in Valhalla, where the sun will always
shine.
Where the mist clings to the mountains, until the end of time.
Where pipers play their chanters, and drones make mystic sounds.
And tunes are played for soldiers, who fought on foreign ground.
May they sleep by the side of their God.
D.M. Davidson, Nepean, Canada.
