I am a Watcher, grim and dread-
I guard the bivouacs of the dead.
The warriors bold in death do slumber-
Unsung, alone, and without number.
I watched as Rome grew from the mud-
To span the mighty Tiberís flood...
When the known world by her was quelled
Until by Romans she was felled.
I saw the Legions march in rank-
Through desert sands, and jungles dank-
They bore their Eagles as they went,
To rest in some barbaric tent.
And Tamujin, and his great horde-
No peace to Europe did afford...
The Russian pograms, warlike Huns-
But no respecter are the guns
And Normandy, how sweet the breath-
A morning laced with smell of death..
On Juno, Gold, and Utah beach-
The warriors died just out of reach.
Korea in the numbing cold-
Where overnight, the young grew old-
The fields were littered by the frozen
On the hills beside the Chosin.
Human waves, time after time-
Oh, how the birds of war did dine.
And as cold death did spread her pall-
I watched, untouched, above it all.
Vietnam, I rode there, too-
The fall of France at Dien Bien Phu.
America in her due time,
Sent her sons, too; into the slime.
The Watcher held a ringside seat,
As soldiers quickly turned to...MEAT.
I saw it all, to what avail?
That I might tell the Travelerís Tale.
Live large, people!