Mad Day In October Poem by Shakespeares Waste Bin

Charge Of The Light Brgade

The Walk

Roans, chestnuts, blacks and greys
Stand the line in perfect swathes
Tunic buttons and brasses glisten
Brave men sit and for orders listen

The finest horse out on parade
Six hundred men, the Light Brigade
Speedy chargers of sword and lance
This day of glory for taking chance

The bugle sounds, the walk it calls
And to their duty the honour falls
Six hundred men and trusting steed
Start the walk of the cannons greed

The Trot

And into the valley they did enter
A perfect line of regal splendour
That chilling, eerie October day
With death these men would play

The buglers mouth dry, he spits
To make sure the note he hits
The kick of heels and to the trot
Hours of drill and had not forgot

Sabres drawn and lances drooped
Flags unfurled and colours trooped
Spit and polish, a sight they made
Men of steel, the noble Light Brigade

The Charge

Cannon to the front, left and right
To man and horse a fearful sight
Beating hearts and steely nerves
With out a thought, bravely serves

And that final longing bugle call
Charge, God speed one and all
A day that stands long in history
Six hundred men and destiny

Hooves rattled, the pace quickened
Grape shot spat and many smitten
Raglan led as Nolan fell
With the truth his life did sell

Onwards, onwards, brave men rode
The longest mile they ever strode
Flesh ripped and limbs stripped
Shell and shot as fear gripped

Left And Right

Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally

Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade

The quicker they fired the faster they came
Under billowing flags and the Queens name
Torn and shredded they carried the fight
And many a soul, never saw that night

The Redout

The Russian generals looked in wonder
Stood in awe at the total squander
The cannons barked and took their toll
Removing horse from man, man from soul

Rifle, cannon, spoke the same
The Light Brigade on they came
Thundering hooves and yelling cries
All for the sight of the Russians eyes

And at the distance of a lance
The Russian soldier in a trance
Sabres cut and slashed in violence
All was death in the cannons silence

The Russians fled in disbelief
Last shot fired to the Brigades relief
Bleeding soldiers and tattered flags
Stumbled, tottered, like wizened hags

Down The Valley

Looking back along that mile
Bodies, horses, pile on pile
Wounded men lean on lance
Said a prayer in skyward glance

On the ground a sleeping parade
Remnants of the Light Brigade
Depleted souls but not of honour
Yet a picture of battles squander

On the conclusion of this battle
Fingers wag and tongues will rattle
But nought should be put to shame
The Light Brigade and its day of fame

At Night

When the moon shines that longest mile
Hear the hooves on lush green pile
The rattling sabres and rippling flags
And how he rode the horseman brags
In the night the ghosts they ride
Full of honour and full of pride