Little soldier from down the hill,
Braver among those without of will,
To step on forth of nature’s wild,
The very age of youth, my child.
Deep heavy steps that likely weigh,
In light of danger at the fray.
Yet here you are, against all odd,
From heat or rain, dry or mud.
With eager heart, naive but start,
The world is yours of good to part.
In end the dark, cold and unfair,
It breathes for pain as death shall stare.
Scars that mount from time and road,
No skills to heal this hearten code.
For here you are, vigilant and proud,
Adorn by horror the knight has shroud.
So say this youth, my little child,
Could you hold you against the wild?