The March

The sky was grey as they march. The sun was covered by the thick, grey clouds s they march. The birds sung of sorrow and grief as they march, the wind blew softly as they march, and the trees stood tall as they march. Men and women stood on the side as they march. They were not waving with joy, nor were they standing there happily. No, they were not happy, their faces show sorrow and grief, as they march. Children were not playing, no they were silently crying as they march.

They march over the grey, stone pavement. They march pass the black, middle age church. They march pass the green park, they marched pass the fountain. Yes, the fountain that sprayed water from a trumpet, being held by an angel. The angel face was happy, but today was not a happy day, as they march. They march to the great-stone wall, that has protected this city for centuries. The black, metal gate opened as they march.

They march past the gate. They march onto the battlefield, and onto the fiery field. They march to certain death, but they march with their heads held high. They march together as the last protectors. The trumpet blew and the march has ended.