Golden Eagle Poem by joses tirtabudi

In the bottom of an old greasy swamp, lies a golden eagle, it's shine now covered in grime.
It lies here, forgotten witness of the brave few who dare to venture where none ever do.
This golden eagle, doth many scars bear, tis many grooves where swords did tear.
Came they from a terrible fight, on a cold blustery day, where the hope of an army was blown away.
Hundreds of weary hungry men, tramping through unfamiliar ground, when in the midst of an ambush they were found.
These weary men, they were tired and cold. They raised the swords, though outnumbered, they were bold.
As the barbarians tore through their withering lines, and as their screaming comrades were consumed by fire,
They gripped the swords, and bid their families farewell, stood back to back, as the enemy did into their columns hack.
In the midst of this carnage, floated the golden eagle, symbol of their hope, their integrity, dream, and goal.
Round the eagle, they now stood, desperately outnumbered by an enemy their distant commanders had misunderstood.
They gave no quarter, expected none. Rallied round that golden eagle, and held together as one.
That eagle, it witnessed the havoc that they made as the enemy in cascades came.
It saw their courage in the face of death. The things they gave when they had nothing left.
It saw the lions rise from their sleep, the final blaze of glory, the heroics that make us weep.
Though all hope was lost, they still fought on like it was there, the golden eagle the focus of their care.
Till finally, the last man had fallen. With his last breath threw the man the eagle into the water.
Never would it fall into enemy hands, it would be the silent witness of these fallen men.
Though defeated, yet they fought on. Though hope was gone, still they fought on and on.
Their dream they never let die, heros they died, heroes for which the people would cry.
Golden eagle, doesn't alway mean victory. But the golden eagle, will never give in.