Banners of past glories now hang in remnant form,
falling prey to natures force, that weathered battles storm,
rich gold and silver embroideries now tarnished, torn and black,
once led the cheering regiment, blindly into attack.

The heart of the regiment protected by the guard,
became the source of heroic tales, sung of by the bards,
but as regiments disband and their armour turns to rust,
the pageant of their history, slowly turns to dust.

A young boy and his father peer up into the gloom,
and try to read the honour’s woven by the loom.
Not knowing why they stand there, in silence and in awe,
held as if mesmerized, by the remnant of past war.
Could they but know how many times over the passing years,
that the Colours there suspended, were the cause of mothers fears.

But this father was a thinking man and gently told his son,
that of all the wars that had been fought, ne’er one of them was won.
Then as he spoke a sudden breeze blew through an open door,
and at their feet, in tattered shreds, fell the symbol of past war.