we ain't marching any more

upon the turning brow of that wintered hill
the army finally tired
and their tiredness it slowly turned
from exhaustion into rest

weary of war
worn to the bone by lock-step, march, manoeuvre, battle
weighed down by the curses of those they had killed
they planted their ragged banners of war
upon the tired brow of that turning hill

vowed never to return
to such things as they
had done
and seen done

beneath the rhythm of sun and clouds and moon and stars
their banners too let their exhaustion show
blood and regality draining back down
into the dirt

and
slowly
new colours rose up through the pores of the earth
and began to flow
and fly and shudder
in the snowdrop sun

and
the army finally slept

and finally they all slept well

then woke
dug deep
struck water