a poem by Don Bothell
How many times has dread filled me; from early battles did I shy?
Shame, soon realized, the most painful death.
When did I square my stance — run over me —
I won’t leave the field.
Soul cast a warrior… warrior my caste.
Over again. Broken body.
Having stood once more in the light of the vision.
Souls thrown from heaven:
Some roll priest, some roll servant, some roll sage, some roll
From the many lots — my way the warrior.
Confrontation my teacher… teach again.
You’ve stood beside me and faced obliteration.
Together we sing the song of sacrifice.
Taken the high ground and not been able to hold it.
May the blade be swift, drawing this dream to an end.
To awaken again, carrying the standard forward .
Knowing no fear — our cause advancing
Caste, warrior… love to defend!