Halfway down the trail to Hell, In a shady meadow green Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped, Near a good old-time canteen. And this eternal resting place Is known as Fiddlers Green. Marching past, straight through to Hell The Infantry are seen. Accompanied by the Engineers, Artillery and Marines, For none but the shades of Cavalrymen Dismount at Fiddlers Green. Though some go curving down the trail To seek a warmer scene. No trooper ever gets to Hell Ere hes emptied his canteen. And so rides back to drink again With friends at Fiddlers Green. And so when man and horse go down Beneath a saber keen, Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee You stop a bullet clean, And the hostiles come to get your scalp, Just empty your canteen, And put your pistol to your head And go to Fiddlers Green. Saw this poem back in the 70s as an Infantry 2LT. If my battle buddy happens to be a Calvary trooper, can I just hang with him? LOL If there is no Guinness and Jamesons I will head to heaven. GOD was an Irishman and I know Ill find it there. Otherwise, I will just refuse to die.
Posted on: Sat, 23 Nov 2013 02:15:03 +0000
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