Her face was a mask of porcelain as she stumbled out of line,
with the wind whipping shadows around her face
she tumbled out of line,
and a lark broke the sky with its morning trills,
echoing a warning around the hills,
a beacon from a fortress up on the hills,
clad in a cloak of cloud
as she moved beyond the line,

Her eyes wore a veil of secrecy as she fumbled with the catch,
gaze darting across the silent sea of faces, she
released the catch
and the rust-coloured scales sailed down to her feet,
glittering like gold-dust along the peat,
a frosting of fine powder coating the peat,
crushed by the rush of hard boots
as she broke apart the catch.

The uniforms all mingled as they marched towards their death,
with a single trail of mud in their wake
they went to meet their death,
silent hearts breathing out misty damp air,
counting each step with an unnoticed care,
trampling dirt underfoot with their cares,
harsh on a hazy horizon
as they hurried to face down their death.