Echoing through the mountains, plains, and forest; the final cry was sounded.
Away in infamy soldiers on proud horses galloped.
Among the others a horse with no rider bounded.

His legs were covered in mud, his nostrils were streaming blood.
His eyes full of sorrow for the one who lay quietly.
He stopped, then looked behind him silently.

He saw a river filled with blood, now flowing red.
He smelled the distant, withering smoke.
He heard the moaning of men not yet dead.

This was the last time the horse would carry a saddle.
This was the last time he would look upon battle;
The last time he would hear the final cry.