The Faithful

When the sea roars its waves and wind hoists its voice,
When the sun folds its rays and its night there’s no choice,
When Summer turns to Winter and Autumn into Fall,
Then life fills a page of memories to recall.

Count not the wounds and the floods of your tears,
For blood may be shed in the fight of your fears,
But the crowns and the glories of the victors of wars,
Are the tales of the battles and the stories of each scar.

Not the wounds, or the pains, or the sorrow, or the griefs,
But the smiles, and the joy, and the hopes, and beliefs,
To be true, to be loyal, to be genuine, to be brave,
Are the armors of soldiers – the faithful beyond grave.

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